Don't Cry Baby
by Chasing Rabbits
Summary: Or, How Kenny and Butters Came to Raise a Baby Together. Butters comes back to South Park after four years away at school only to find that things have changed in a very overwhelming way.
1. Prologue

Now that finals are over, I get time to write more fic! I'm probably the only one who's actually really, really excited about this.

**Don't Cry Baby** is an absolutely gorgeous **Etta James** song. I'd suggest you take a listen to it.

Sorry for any errors. I do all my own stunts.

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><p>If you'd asked Butters Stotch twenty years ago what he'd be doing at this moment, never in a million years would he have replied 'sitting in the principal's office with Kenny McCormick'.<p>

Life has a funny way of taking your expectations and fucking them right in the butt, though, so Butters has kind of just learned to let life take him where it may and so far it's been pretty enjoyable. He's got a good life: a steady job, a handsome fella, and a pretty great kid to keep him happy.

"Kenny, Butters," Principal Victoria regards them with an air of familiarity as they walk in through the door. She looks like just about everyone else does when they realize that Kenneth McCormick and Leopold Stotch really are Kenny and Butters, that they've really shacked up and raised a kid together. It's that look of gentle shock and confusion that clouds their faces for a brief flicker of a second before they realize they're being rude and continue with whatever they'd just been saying.

"Have a seat, boys," she says and gestures to two chairs on either side of the one in the middle. "Mr. Mackey is just finishing up with Patrick right now."

Butters squirms in his seat—he'd only been sent to the principal a few times in his life, and the worst part had always been sitting in with Mackey and _talking_ about what you'd just done. That, and if Patrick was anything like Butters he was probably close to bawling his eyes out and pleading with whatever God above that no one had called his parents.

Butters likes to think that he and Kenny are a little more forgiving with Patrick than their parents had been with them.

Sure enough, when the door opens Patrick is utterly mortified to see his parents sitting there waiting for him, but obediently goes to sit between them when he's asked to do so. Butters notices out of the corner of his eye how surprised Principal Victoria looks when she sees Kenny lean over and check Patrick's face for any markings or signs of stress or damage, internal or external. He bristles, because seven years in and still no one believes that Kenny is as good of a father as he is. Butters would put him up against anyone as a parent.

"Kenny, Leopold," Principal Victoria begins, and Butters cringes because he's only a few years shy of thirty and he still can't stand being called Leopold ninety percent of the time. It's only a problem in situations like this, where he has to give off the impression that he's a mature adult who pays bills and goes to work five days a week and who doesn't play his son's video games with his boyfriend after they've put him to sleep.

"As I told you," she continued, and Kenny let go of Patrick's face and grudgingly gave the woman his full attention. "We had a bit of an incident in class with Patrick today… he was—"

"To put it simply," Mr. Mackey takes over, "he was caught dumping a tray of paint onto another student's head."

That's what gets Butters' attention. He whips around to look at Patrick with that imploring parental look he swore he'd never give his own kid ever, and meanwhile Kenny's about two seconds away from bursting into laughter, because as long as Patrick is physically safe, Kenny's pretty amused by just about everything he does, even if that something includes emotionally scarring another student.

"It was just paint," Kenny says, and Butters may actually reach around behind Patrick and smack him on the shoulder if he's not careful. "I'm just saying, it'll wash out, right?"

"Well, see," Mr. Mackey pulls up a chair and sits. "We try to talk it out here. There's a reason for why children do what they do and we want to get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible. Now, Patrick, can you remember what you talked about and tell your dads what happened?"

Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his chair and folds his arms, loose blond curls sticking up every which way and hazel eyes cast off to the side, like he's intending on taking what's probably a really petty reason for his behavior to his grave with him. Butters places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze.

"Patrick, no one's mad at you," he says. "We just wanna know what happened."

"I don't wanna talk about it," Patrick shoots back, very insistent, and Butters rolls his eyes because he lives with two of the most stubbornly shut-off human beings in the world and there's only so much he can do before he just gives up and lets them be emotionally-repressed retards for the rest of their lives. At least they'd be emotionally-repressed together.

"I know you don't want to," Kenny chimes in, leaning over in his seat and pushing a few of the bigger curls back off of Patrick's forehead. "But you know they're just gonna tell us anyway if you don't, right? We'd rather hear it from you."

Butters nods and picks a piece of lint off of Patrick's turquoise parka, and Patrick sighs, like his parents offering him physical affection is the most tiring thing in the world. He sinks low in his seat and starts playing with his fingers as he moves to speak.

"We were making Mother's Day cards after recess," he begins. "And I was makin' one for my mom. Cynthia Cliffords came over to me and told me I couldn't make one 'cause I don't have a mom."

"Oh, Jesus," Butters hears Kenny say, because of any parenting thing he has to deal with, Kenny fucking hates the 'I have two daddies' song and dance. Patrick sees his mom every weekend, even spends a few weeks with her every summer when her schedule allows it.

"Well, I told her I did," Patrick frowns and sits up, upset now. "And she said that I couldn't have two dads _and_ a mom. And then she told me that I was goin' to hell because my parents like to poke each other in the butt."

Butters is actually the one who laughs at this, because it's funny, but quickly moves to cover his mouth when Kenny gives him a look.

"So you dumped paint on her head," Kenny tries to puzzle out, but Patrick shakes his head.

"No, that was all fine," he says. "When she said that my mom was a slut and my dads were evil… that's when I did it."

Patrick Steven McCormick-Stotch—Queer Crusader and Advocate for Social Change, age seven.

"We understand that what Cynthia said was in no way excusable," says Principal Victoria, "And believe me, I had a thorough talk with her mother not half an hour ago about the seriousness of the situation."

"Good," Kenny nods and moves to stand. "Principal Victoria, it's been a pleasure as always—"

"Sit down, Mr. McCormick," Principal Victoria scowls and that name enough gets Kenny to sit in his chair. He hates being called Mr. McCormick almost as much as Butters hates being called Leopold.

"Sorry," Kenny apologizes, even though he's not in the least bit sorry. Butters has to hold in a laugh again.

"This in no way excuses Patrick from what he's done," Principal Victoria says. "I understand that children in this… situation have a more difficult time assimilating when it comes to this kind of thing, but resorting to physical retaliation—"

"It was just paint!" Patrick exclaims, "I-I made sure it was the kind that washed out before I did it, honest!"

"Patrick," Butters says in that warning tone that gets him to shut his mouth instantly and turns to Principal Victoria with an earnest smile on his face. "Thank you for letting us know. We'll be sure to have a talk with him."

"Absolutely," Kenny nods and stands. "Are we excused now?" Because Kenny is insanely uncomfortable and, even if Butters couldn't read him like a book, he's not doing a very good job of hiding it. Principal Victoria just nods and jots something down on Patrick's file.

"Yes, you are. Patrick is excused from school for the rest of the week, and I want you all to know that if this incident turns into regular behavior, I will take action," she says and gives Butters a smile. "Have a nice day."

Butters bids her the same and stands, because Kenny's already out the door and walking back to the car. Patrick hasn't moved yet—he's just sitting with his face buried in his parka and a fearful look in his eyes.

"Come on, sweetheart," Butters says as he grabs Patrick's backpack off of another chair by the door, and Patrick stands to follow Butters out of the office and to the car.

"Dad," Patrick says softly and Butters turns around. "Can you help me untie this knot?" He holds up one of his drawstrings that he's undoubtedly knotted up all on his own while he waited outside the principal's office earlier.

"Let's do it when we get home," Butters suggests and holds out a hand for Patrick to take. He does, and it makes Butters' heart feel warm because his son is seven and still doesn't mind holding his hand sometimes. Granted, the hallway is deserted right now, so there's no chance of him being seen by any of his friends, but still. It feels good.

"Dad," Patrick says again as they walk out of the school and into the parking lot, where Kenny is already waiting and, _Jesus __Christ_, smoking a cigarette. He's been trying to quit since Patrick was a baby, and there were a good three or four years where he'd kept his relapses to a minimum, but he's been unsuccessful for the most part. He claims it's because he needs something to do with his hands, and unless Butters is offering to be manhandled in public at a moment's notice, he's going to keep on until he finds a better alternative.

"Dad!" Patrick tugs on his hand and pulls him out of his head.

"Yeah?"

"Is dad mad at me?"

"Why would he be?" Butters asks and adjusts Patrick's bag over his shoulder. "Baby, you didn't do anything worth bein' mad about, all right?"

"I know," Patrick shrugs. "He left awful fast, though."

"That's 'cause he hates that office," Butters grins and leans down like they're sharing a secret. "Between you and me, I think it reminds him way too much of all those times he got sent to that office. And it's the same lady, too. He probably thinks it's him that's in trouble instead of you."

That makes Patrick smile a bit and drop Butters' hand; Butters doesn't know if he likes knowing that Patrick is getting too old for hand-holding. He doesn't dwell on it too much, because Patrick's bounding up to Kenny now and hugging him tight around the waist. Kenny flicks the cigarette into a puddle and hugs Patrick back. He can never get enough of this kid's hugs—Butters kind of loves that about him. For the macho asshole parents that both his dad and brother are, Kenny's one of the sweetest, most loving dads a kid could ask for. Both Butters and Patrick remind him of this on several occasions—Patrick usually in birthday cards that, up until about a year ago, Butters had been writing, while Butters says it every once in a while when Kenny's feeling particularly down.

"All right," Butters says as he stops in front of Kenny and Patrick, a hugging heap against the side of the car. "I don't feel like cookin', so who wants pizza tonight?"

Patrick's eyes light up, because Fridays are the nights they get pizza and a Friday today is not. He looks at Kenny, to make sure Butters isn't just saying this, to make sure it's actually happening, before letting out a little 'yip' of happiness and Kenny's affirming smile. Butters figures that, after the day this poor kid has had, he deserves a little something like pizza on a Thursday night to lift his spirits.

They pile into the car, their relatively un-shitty Nissan Sentra that Kenny has owned since before Patrick was even born, and start off toward home. They live closer to the outskirts of town, in a nice little community that popped up sometime in the four years that Butters had been away at school. Butters likes it because it's a good ways away from his parents, and Kenny likes it because it's not a total shithole.

Patrick likes it because it's their home.

Considering how much Kenny and Butters hated being at home around their parents when they were kids, Butters takes it as a point of pride that Patrick likes to spread his homework out on the dining table and hum to himself while Butters washes dishes or while Kenny looks over stacks of inventory and orders for the store.

"Dad, how do you say this word?"

It's a Butters question. Kenny gets questions about math (which as it turns out he's really good at) and science, while Butters gets pronunciation and spelling questions. Butters tosses his towel down on the countertop and goes to look at whatever Patrick's pointing at.

"Genealogy," Butters says almost mindlessly before he registers the word and looks back at the paper again. A family history report, due on Monday, pictures and all on a poster, and Patrick hasn't mentioned a word until now.

"When did your teacher give you this?" Butters asks and picks up the piece of paper. On the back there are two boxes, one labeled 'mom' and one labeled 'dad'. The 'mom' box is already full, which means he's had this at least for one weekend. The 'dad' box is empty, and Patrick looks like he feels a little guilty for leaving it so.

"I didn't," Patrick shifts in his seat. He's no longer in his parka, and Butters is sometimes surprised of how much smaller he looks when he's out of it. "I didn't know who to ask."

Butters nods, because Kenny's been drawn in by the conversation by now and has taken the paper from Butters' hands. He looks it over and snorts.

"Your mom is not part Cherokee," he says, scanning Patrick's notes on the subject. "That would make her one sixty-fourth; that doesn't count."

He says it to make Butters laugh, because Patrick could probably care less about whose great grandmother was fucking who, but Butters…

"We're out of milk, I think," he says, distant. "I'm gonna go out and get some."

He grabs his coat, pecks Kenny on the lips and kisses Patrick on the top of his head before he leaves the house feeling all a panicked mess. He just needs to get outside, to think, to calm down, because he knew this day was coming.

He just never wanted it to come so soon.

But Patrick is smart, so it's a wonder it didn't come sooner. His mom has been an active part of his life since he's been born, longer even than Butters has been a part of his life (although not by much) and Patrick's not ignorant enough to believe that every kid has two dads and a mom… not that anyone ever gave him the chance to be that ignorant, at any rate. Patrick knows that one pf them is the odd one out but has never bothered to piece it together before, probably for the sake of whoever isn't his real dad, because he's one of the sweetest kids that ever lived and it makes Butters' heart hurt knowing that he's kept all these questions to himself for the sake of his dad's feelings.

He walks up and down the Surrounding streets at least three times each, trying to get this worry out of his head—Patrick's his son, and Butters is his dad, just as much as Kenny is.

Butters' phone rings and, as expected, it's home calling. Probably Kenny to make sure he's not teetering on the edge of a cliff or anything. Butters never knows why Kenny thinks he'd resort to such drastic measures—of anyone, Kenny's the melodramatic one out of the three of them, always making big gestures and grand claims that make Butters and Patrick sort of look at each other and roll their eyes.

"Hello?" Butters holds the phone to his ear.

"Hi, dad," comes Patrick's voice on the other end of the line. "I need a poster board but dad says you took the car keys with you on accident."

Sure enough, Butters reaches into his pockets to see that, yes, in his haste he'd accidentally grabbed the car keys.

"I'll be home in a second," he says. "We'll get your poster board and pick up some pizza. Sound like a plan?"

"Yes sir," Patrick chirps back a little cheekily and he knows instantly that Kenny was sitting there with him, because Patrick loves making Kenny laugh like it's so difficult, which is kind of silly because Kenny laughs at everything.

Butters folds up the phone and puts it back in his pocket. Patrick is still calling him 'dad'… that's at least good. He walks the block and a half back home to see Patrick sitting on the stoop with his backpack, humming to himself as he traces lines on the pavement with a stick.

"Hey," Butters says, unsure of why he's feeling this uncomfortable pull in his gut. Patrick's just the same as he ever was, all big smiles and happy greetings as he sets the stick down and walks over to the car.

"Did you know that dad's family is Irish?" Patrick asks as he climbs into the car and buckles up.

"Sure did," he says and pulls out of the driveway. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"Yup," Patrick nods and then pulls his notebook out of his bag, and then a pen, and turns to his report paper. "You left before I got to ask you where your family is from."

"Oh," Butters falters, shifting a little uncomfortably as Patrick stares at him expectantly. "W-well, I think your teacher's probably just interested in dad and your mom."

"But I wanna know about you too," Patrick frowns, looking at Butters almost to say 'this isn't like you', because it's not. Butters always encourages Patrick to go above and beyond the call of duty on school assignments, mostly because he's got his mom's brain's and not using them would be a sin.

"Uh," Butters begins, "Well, a lot of my family is from Scotland and England, and then Scandinavia mostly for the rest. A little Polish, I think your grandma said, but I'm not sure."

Patrick nods as he jots down his notes, like he's a reporter looking to make headlines with a hard-hitting story, and when they stop at a red light Butters can see that Patrick has misspelled 'Scandnavya' and so politely spells it out for him.

"My mom and you had different places, but dad just had one," Patrick notices. "Do you think he's lying?"

"Probably," Butters shrugs. "I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't really know, sweetheart."

Patrick nods again and stuffs his notebook back into his bag. He appears contemplative, but Butters has lived with both him and Kenny long enough to know that you just let it lie when they got like that. If they wanted to tell you what they were thinking, they would, and if it was something important, you just kind of had to trust that they'd come out with it if they had to.

Sometimes Butters kind of wished they had another kid, maybe a daughter, who was a little more like him. He always thought two and two would've been easier, because working out a balancing act between the three of them gets a little trying sometimes. Butters likes to think they succeed… much more than his parents ever did, anyway.

"Know what I think?" Patrick asks as they park at the market and get out of the car.

"What's that?" Butters shoots back as he runs over a checklist in his head: poster and pizza. And maybe some ice cream, because it's just that kind of night.

"I think I'm gonna put your flags on my poster board anyway," Patrick says as Butters grabs a cart and hops on the end. Butters gives him a look and makes him get off, because that's dangerous and he'll be damned if harm comes to one hair on that kid's head when it was entirely avoidable.

That, and Kenny had made it abundantly clear from the first time Butters held Patrick seven years ago that he would murder him if he ever even thought about letting harm come to him.

"Fine," Patrick rolls his eyes and steps back onto the linoleum. "I'm still putting you on my poster."

"I'm perfectly fine with bein' left off of it," Butters lies as he browses the office supplies. Patrick is looking at the posters, unsure if he should pick basic white or eye-bleeding neon yellow. He settles on fluorescent orange and places it in the basket.

"No," Patrick is adamant. "You're my dad and I want you on it, so my teacher can go fuck herself."

Butters flies forward and claps a hand over Patrick's mouth, making sure to smile politely at Mrs. Tweak, who gives him _a__look_ like he can't even control his own kid in public like this? Butters rolls his eyes when she passes and regards Patrick sternly.

"What're you talkin' like that for?" he asks, even though he knows the answer. Kenny curses like a fucking sailor, and after being with him for so long Butters has started doing the same. It's not the best of habits, and it's certainly not the worst, but the last thing Butters needs is someone reporting him and Kenny because their kid can't keep his filthy mouth shut.

"Sorry," Patrick mumbles and pulls his hood up over his head in a way that indicates that he's not. "But she _is _kind of a bitch anyway."

Butters decides to stop trying and moves to gather the rest of the items on his small list… and a gallon of rocky road ice cream because Butters knows he's going to need it later. They don't say much on the ride home, and when they get back into the house they find Kenny lounging on the couch, watching some trashy show that he won't admit that he loves.

"Hey, boys," Kenny smiles and gives a languid stretch. "Have a good time?"

"I got an orange poster," Patrick declares proudly and runs to lay it out on the kitchen table. Butters snorts and leans over the back of the couch to kiss Kenny hello, and really shouldn't be surprised when Kenny grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves his tongue in his mouth like they're fifteen years old.

"You okay?" he asks and gives Butters' lower lip an affectionate nip.

"Yeah," Butters says and clears his throat. "Got ice cream meltin'."

Kenny lets him go, though it seems he thinks it's against his better judgment. Like he thinks Butters is going to send himself careening off the edge of a hundred-story building if he's left alone for too long or something. Why would anyone bother to do that when they knew they had rocky road in the freezer.

As it stands, Butters doesn't even get as far as preheating the oven before Kenny comes up from behind and wraps his arms around him, kissing him on the neck and nuzzling him in the kind of way that makes Patrick give an exaggerated gag. They know he doesn't mind, no more than any kid minds their parents being affectionate, but he's definitely Kenny's son in the way that he enjoys the shit out of being a brat.

"Get a room," he says and Kenny and Butters both look over at him like he monkeys have just flown out of his mouth.

"Where'd you hear that?" Kenny asks and Patrick shrugs.

"My mom told me to say it if you guys ever got too gross," he says and gives them a cheeky grin. Butters rolls his eyes, about to say he's going to have a talk with her on Saturday when she comes to pick him up, but Kenny's plan of attack is entirely different. He spins Butters around and captures him in a sloppy, groan-inducing kiss. Patrick seems to get the hint and grabs his homework, his backpack, and his poster, and stomps off upstairs. Butters is ready to pull away, to laugh and tell Kenny he's made his point, but Kenny's shifted tones now. He's got Butters' head cradled in both of his hands, tonguing softly at the inside of his mouth in the way that he always does when he's too caught up in the moment to say 'I love you'. Butters will never admit it, but stuff like that always weakens his resolve.

He only just remembers to put the pizza in the oven before he pulls Kenny into their little laundry room so they can resume sucking face.

"How long 'til that pizza's done?" Kenny asks as Butters starts in on unbuttoning his fly.

"Fifteen minutes," Butters replies and nips at his chin.

"Sweet," Kenny grins and grabs the box of dryer sheets off of the shelf. They keep an emergency strip of condoms at the very bottom of the box, because even though Butters is always mortified that Patrick will somehow find them Kenny is insistent that they have a stash in every room just in case.

The laundry room is small; they can't hump against the washer or dryer, because they make too much noise and the only time they'd tried it Patrick had thought someone was trying to rob them. And they can't fuck against the door because… that makes too much noise too and Patrick thinks someone's trying to rob them whenever they forget and do it anyway. They haven't done a very good job of easing his paranoia, Butters thinks, but how do two of the most paranoid people in the world churn out an un-paranoid kid? Can't be done.

Blessedly, Kenny pulls Butters out of his thoughts by sneaking a hand down into his pants and bringing him into another kiss. They fall back into a pile of laundry on the floor that Kenny's yet to take care of, both frantically trying to get each other out of their pants and trying not to make noise in the process.

They emerge twenty minutes later to a pizza just shy of burnt and a son who thinks that his dads are completely useless human beings. Kenny tells him to stop whining, that he's lucky they're feeding him at all, and he does a good job of coming across as sarcastic as he does for how close those words must hit home. He's not nearly as skinny as he used to be when they were kids, isn't even as thin as he was when Patrick was born—he looks healthy, and secretly Butters takes every last bit of credit for it.

"Any idea what you're doing with your mom this weekend?" Kenny asks when he crunches into a blackened slice of pizza. He'll eat anything; Butters and Patrick are less inclined to do so.

"She said she's taking me to the Nature and Science museum," Patrick shrugs and picks a pepperoni off of his slice of pizza. Then he looks up at Butters and frowns. "How come you're my dad?"

Butters and Kenny stop dead and look at Patrick like he's a feral tiger that's just gotten loose from the zoo. Kenny looks a little like he's about to snap into defense mode, because there will never be a moment when Kenny isn't protective of Butters, but Butters kicks him in the shin because this is their kid, not some asshole stopping them in the supermarket or making rude comments in the park or anything.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" Butters asks, because he knows Patrick doesn't mean anything bad by it. He's curious. He's always been curious. He's a little kid, for God's sake.

"I mean," Patrick begins, "my mom is my mom, and dad is my dad, because they're my mom and dad, but how come you're my dad too? I mean, my mom has a boyfriend too, and I've never even met him."

Butters looks over at Kenny, who's looking right back at him like he's afraid of what he'll say. Butters hates that look—he hates knowing that he can make Kenny feel afraid and helpless. He doesn't want to go down that road ever again.

"I'm your dad because I fell in love with you and your dad decided to share you with me, all right?" Butters smiles and leans over the table to kiss Patrick on the forehead. "That's all there is to it. Now let's order some real pizza before we both starve."


	2. Chapter 1

Have some more fic, guys. It's winter vacation-**-fic for EVERYONE**.

Thank you to everyone who read, everyone who reviewed... I love hearing what you guys think and I hope you stick with it. I'm actually kind of way excited about this story.

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><p>Kenny McCormick had been the town's cautionary tale ever since he'd been caught fingering Red in the girl's bathroom when they were twelve. He'd been disregarded as trailer trash before that, so most parents had had trepidation about letting their kids hang out with him anyway, but that singular incident appeared to have 'sealed the deal' in so many words. Suddenly Kenny was 'that McCormick boy', that insatiable sex-fiend who'd impregnate your daughter as soon as he'd turn your son into rabid reefer fiend.<p>

The rumors only got worse when he'd got caught sucking off some ninth grader the year after. A bunch of people thought he did it for money, because his type wasn't above doing whatever it took to get their hands on a little extra cash, even if it meant risking communicable diseases, reputation, and self-respect along the way. After that he was not only a slut, but a whore.

Butters knew different, though. With every new rumor that surfaced, every time Kenny's ear perked up when he heard his name mentioned, a secret sort of smile flittered across his face. Butters knew that smile, knew that face—it was that 'I-sucked-cock-and-liked-it' face. Butters knew that face, because he'd caught himself making it a time or two before. He'd never made it a point to go up to Kenny and, say, welcome him to 'the team' or even give him the 'I understand and I love you anyway' speech. They'd just made eye contact one day, Kenny smiling at him and Butters smiling back, and that had been that.

Of course, everything had changed, as things so often did, in their junior year of high school. Kenny's brother, Kevin, had gotten a job at a tattoo-and-piercings place in town and had started using Kenny as a test subject. First came an ear piercing, a single silver ring right through the lobe of his right ear. Then another right above that one, and soon another above that one. Next came a tattoo, the words 'Memento Mori' scrawled across his left shoulder blade. Then a quick succession of piercings—a ring through his right eyebrow, a stud just below his lower lip, and, Butters' personal favorite, a bar right through the middle of his tongue.

Just the thought of it gave Butters a permanent hard-on all through the school day, imagining what wonders that tongue could work if it was really as practiced as everyone said it was. Kenny had obviously caught onto these musings by the beginning of senior year, since there was absolutely no other rational reason on the planet Earth for why he'd started flashing Butters glimpses of his tongue every so often, clicking the shiny metal ball against his teeth as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Butters hadn't lasted long after that. After all the warnings from his parents, all those 'don't turn out like that McCormick kid's, Butters caved one day and all but pushed Kenny into an abandoned custodian's closet on the fourth floor and shoved his tongue down his throat. Then he gave into Kenny's needy groans and breathy pleas and let him suck him off right there between third and fourth period.

Naturally, he'd decided to reciprocate the next day and everything had only escalated from there.

Pretty soon Butters had started lying to his parents—whether it was a science project or a new rehearsal at work, he always made sure he had a wholesome excuse to cover up the true reason for his absence… which was more often than not something along the lines of "I would rather get drilled into a mattress than have to sit in the same house as you two, so bye." Not exactly a contest, Butters figured, since he'd concluded that having his ass fucked was just about the highest form of euphoria one could experience, and to have Kenny doing the fucking was possibly Nirvana.

But then Kenny must have gotten bored. About a month and a half before they were due to graduate, he disappeared without a trace. The only one who appeared to have taken it harder than Butters had been Karen, and that had been understandable. Both she and Butters held onto the futile hope that Kenny would come back, preferably, in Butters' mind, before he had to leave for college that September.

He didn't, of course. In fact, if it hadn't been for his regular check-ups on Karen, Butters never would have even known that Kenny had even come back, let alone that he'd come back the day after Butters had left. Butters took it as the hint that he was sure had been intended and never called Kenny again. For the most part, things had worked out for him since then. He hadn't been back to South Park in four years (which was always a good thing), he'd managed to hold down a steady job since his freshman year, had done well in school, and he'd had a pretty sweet apartment with a relatively sane roommate.

He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to come home.

That had been the one thing he'd specifically told himself not to do as soon as he'd been on an airplane to California, and what had he done? He'd gotten a degree (and not a bullshit one either—a double in psychology and business), he'd graduated with honors, and come right back home right away because his_ parents _needed a goddang _house sitter_.

_Great idea, Butters, you've really outdone yourself this time. _

He'd already been home for a few days and by now he knew this had been a mistake of the most horrible kind. His parents had obviously grown accustomed to having the house all to themselves, because if Butters had to watch them suck face or pinch each other's backsides one more time he was going to barf all over everything.

As it stood, they were leaving on vacation the next morning and Butters would have the house to himself for a whole month. All he had to do was make it through the next twelve hours, which was already looking pretty glum anyway since his dad wouldn't let him turn on the TV.

"You just came back from college," his dad said. "Didn't they teach you the benefits of reading?" he asked and shook his newspaper. Butters couldn't very well pick up the TV and shake it to signify its importance, so he just sunk low into the couch and folded his arms.

"I don't want to read for fun right now," he posed instead, but his dad refused to listen. Butters heaved a sigh and picked up a magazine off of the coffee table. He turned it over and almost paled when he saw the sexy, fierce face of Cameron Diaz staring back at him.

"I have a _Field and Stream_ in here somewhere," his dad said, seeing just now what Butters was holding.

"No," Butters said a little too loudly. "Cosmo's fine."

"Butters—"

"It's fine," Butters insisted and looked at the cover. "Gotta learn about 'Sexy Summer Hair'."

"Oh," his dad said with a knowing smile on his face. "All right, you 'read it for the articles', I get it. Just make sure you make sure your mom gets it back."

By some divine miracle, Butters managed not to roll his eyes and just buried his nose in the magazine. He paused when he saw a picture of Kim Kardashian, feeling his gut stir a little bit, and crossed his legs away from his father. No matter how many men Butters slept with in his lifetime, even if he got married to one and had half a dozen kids, somehow Kim Kardashian would manage to reduce him to a panting, ravenous jungle beast. He'd finally managed to turn the page, eyes flitting pictures of women's vibrators that all looked more like torture devices than anything that could possibly be pleasurable, when his mom came down the stairs in what had to be the most hideous floral dress Butters had ever seen.

"What do you think?" she asked, posing at the bottom of the stairs like she was decked out in a diamond-studded gown.

"Honey," Stephen said very carefully. "Did you make that one yourself?"

"You bet!" she said proudly, giving a little twirl.

"Are you joining the Von Trapp Family Singers on their summer tour?" Butters asked, wincing only slightly when his dad wacked his newspaper over the back of his head.

"I thought I'd wear this on the plane tomorrow," she said and smoothed her hands over her hips. "It's nice and light and with a little sweater it should look fantastic."

"Honey, we're going to Florida," Stephen said and stood, moving to press a kiss to his wife's forehead. "A sweater in Florida at this time of year?"

"Floral prints before the age of seventy?" Butters muttered from behind the magazine. If his dad had heard him, he didn't make any indications of it.

"Oh, what do you two know?" Linda rolled her eyes just as a lithe Siamese cat sauntered down the stairs and stood at her feet, meowing very loudly. "Aw, see? Princess thinks I look beautiful." She said sweetly and scooped the cat up into her arms.

Butters narrowed his eyes at the cat over the top of the magazine. Not two weeks after Butters had been at school had his mother emailed him a picture of her and a kitten sleeping in the palm of her hands. Now here the cat was, fully grown and looking at Butters as she would a canary or a fish.

Ugh, Butters hated cats.

"Princess, why don't you go play with your brother while mommy gets ready for bed," said Linda as she set Princess down on the couch beside her son. Butters went rigid. Had his mom just referred to this beast as his _sister_? What the hell was wrong with people in this house?

"Relax, Butters," his dad chastised from the stairs. "She's a sweet cat, loves everybody. You two will get along just fine."

Butters didn't want to know why his dad was loosening his tie and running up the stairs like a man on a mission.

Well… okay, he knew why he was, but it was just much easier to pretend that his parents were too excited about Florida to put off sleep any longer. Any bumps or loud noises were to be ignored from here on out, drowned out by the _absolutely fascinating_ information Cosmo had to offer.

For instance, he was _absolutely fascinated_ by the article about what was allegedly supposed to extend the male orgasm. He wasn't entirely sure of what it was that made women think that any of this was the right way to go… then again, maybe it was different for straight guys than it was for gay guys. He was pretty sure if anyone (Kim Kardashian and a few other stunningly attractive ladies excluded) got up on him and started rubbing their naked lady bits all over him that he'd get sick all over the place.

He may have thrown down the magazine when he realized that it was his mother who must've dog-eared the article about having sex in a car and immediately gone into the kitchen to find something to distract himself from the repulsive thoughts of his parents having sex. He stopped cold when he saw a picture on the refrigerator of his mother, his father, and the cat all posed perfectly together in front of a Christmas tree. Beneath the picture where the big loopy words "Merry Christmas from the Stotches!" without a picture or mention of Butters in sight.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," he muttered upon scanning the rest of the fridge. There were pictures of this cat _everywhere_, to the point where the only indication of Butters' existence was his fourth-grade school picture tucked away under a giant magnet. He looked over at Princess, who was still perched on the couch, and shook his head.

"Shoulda just got you twenty-one years ago and been done with it," he said and moved toward the front door. The cat hissed at him as he walked past; Butters may have hissed back. He wasn't sure he should be held responsible for his actions since this was about the single-most infuriating situation he could think to be in. He grabbed a coat in one hand, his key in the other, and left the house for what he wished could be forever.

It had been a bad idea to come home—he'd thought it once and he'd keep thinking it until it became a good idea, which would never happen, so… bad idea. _Hey Butters, come home and housesit for us while we go on vacation. You can live here and eat here and it'll be… it'll be just grand. _Fat fucking chance.

Butters walked all the way to the supermarket, because, judging by the way he'd seen the fridge and cabinets were stocked, his parents had apparently stopped eating food. He grabbed a cart and started down the first aisle he saw, which ended up backfiring since it wasn't even a food aisle. In fact, it was the pet food aisle, which only made Butters want to kick every single bag of Meow-Mix off of the shelf and run out of the store like a madman.

However, being that he hadn't been raised in a barn, he refrained and instead calmly proceeded to the next aisle over.

He kind of sighed when he realized that he wasn't in the aisle alone—there were a few older people browsing the oatmeal, and then there was definitely a woman with a baby at the end of the aisle, and… no. It wasn't, was it? Butters hid behind a display of breakfasty clearance items and snuck another peek out of the corner of his eye.

To be honest, Bebe Stevens had always kind of scared Butters. He really liked her and all, because she'd always been really nice to him and in spite of her beauty had actually remained very humble and kind, but she was just one of those people who did everything and did it so well that it just kind of pissed you off. She had graduated high school co-valedictorian with Wendy Testaburger, had applied to every pre-med program under the sun, and, last Butters had heard, was now attending medical school at Columbia in New York. Beauty, brains, _and_ she'd managed to be the fiercest volley ball player Park County High had seen in decades because she was absolutely _ruthless_ on the court… and also happened to stand at a monstrous five-foot ten in just her sneakers.

The best part about her, though, had been her refusal to touch her mane of curly blonde hair. No matter how many times people asked, she never gave into to their requests to straighten it. Even now, all decked out in her trendy boots and expensive-looking dark jeans and her red leather jacket, her hair was the same bushy gold tangle it had always been.

"Don't think I can't see you over there, Butters Stotch," she said, her voice as thick and smooth as ever, and turned to give him a smile. Butters smiled back and couldn't help but think that she sounded like… well, she sounded like a grown-up woman. It shouldn't have been so absurd—they were all kind of grown up now.

Bebe practically ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. Butters was kind of glad he'd hit his last little growth spurt after he'd left for school, because now at least he could boast that he was about as tall as her, even in her boots.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she beamed and held him by the shoulders at arm's length, looking him up and down the way one always did when seeing someone after too long away. "Damn, you look good."

"You too," Butters smiled. Okay, it _was_ actually kind of nice to see her. Out of anyone in South Park, he was glad she'd gotten to him before anyone else.

"What the hell are you doing back in town?" she asked, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "When you didn't come back after that first year I thought you were gone for good."

"Yeah, me too," Butters said in that polite way you were supposed to do when you were catching up with old friends. Butters knew—he'd heard his mother use that tone of voice all the time at church on Sundays. "Stuff happens, though. What about you? Thought you were off in med school bein' brilliant or somethin'."

"Uh, things have been pretty crazy the last few months," Bebe gave a nervous laugh and visibly sagged like someone who'd gone through too much in too short of time. Then Butters remembered that it was close to the end of her semester too and that she was probably as dead from finals as the rest of the college set. Butters got it—he'd only just started feeling marginally better the other day, and he'd been out of school for a while now.

"I'm actually only here until next week before I have to go back," Bebe said, appearing to be repeating herself if the way she was waving her hand in front of Butters' face was any indication.

"Aw dang," Butters frowned. "That kinda sucks. I guess we'll have t—"

He was interrupted by the distinct sound of a baby crying and Bebe's face falling like she was the one to blame. He did that sometimes too—after having spent an entire childhood as the class scapegoat, it was kind of hard not to think you were to blame for mishaps. Butters laughed anyway, about to make a mention of this little quirk of his, when he noticed the dark circles under Bebe's eyes and her smudged make-up. She was one of those people who never liked going out in a state of disarray, as a matter of pride more than anything, and this—

Oh.

_Oh Jesus_.

Butters looked just over Bebe's shoulder and saw a stroller sitting idly by where she'd been standing not a minute ago. Butters didn't wait for her to explain, didn't even wait for her to claim the baby as hers, just walked over to the stroller and crouched down beside it. Inside there was a baby. A real, live baby in a little blue onesie. He knew someone _his age_ that had a _baby_.

Butters wouldn't even be twenty-two until September.

Bebe was only just twenty-two last month.

This baby was definitely not a month old.

Butters pointed at the crying bundle of baby and looked back at Bebe with a face he hoped conveyed just how much fuckery he felt was going on here.

"I told you things have been crazy," she said with a tired laugh as she rubbed at her temples. Now that Butters got an actual good look at her, she did look a little like she was close to falling over, more so than finals had ever warranted from anyone.

"I thought you were in school, woman!" Butters cried indignantly, only to frown when he realized that the baby had grabbed his finger and started tugging on it. He'd stopped crying, too, and even gave him a little toothless smile when Butters gave him a confused look. He seemed to be absolutely fascinated by Butters.

"I am in school," Bebe and walked over to crouch beside Butters. "I told you I'm going back next week, didn't I?"

"Then who the heck is takin' care of your baby?" Butters shot back. The baby had since brought Butters' finger to his mouth and started gnawing on it. "Aw, jeez!" he exclaimed and pulled his finger away. He looked at the baby, who was laughing happily at him, and gave him a chastising frown.

"You don't know where my fingers have been, mister," he said. "You're gonna end up gettin' sick if you're not careful."

Bebe laughed and put a hand on Butters' shoulder.

"He likes you," she said. "Consider yourself lucky—He usually just cries at other people."

"Yeah, well," Butters sighed and looked the baby right in his big hazel eyes. "Babies just like me, I guess. My cousin in Florida? She's got two babies, a-an' every time I see 'em they just go nuts over me. She only ever lets me babysit when we visit. Must be my charming personality."

"Must be," Bebe grinned and leaned her head against Butters' shoulder, bringing him into a one-armed hug. Butters looked over and noticed the odd mix of feelings on her face. He cleared his throat and brushed at a few of the baby's fine blond hairs.

"A baby?" he asked again and Bebe gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "You cart him around with you across the country, or are your parents takin' care of him while you're-?"

"Hey Bebe, I—oh, come on!" came an old, familiar voice that made Butters' blood run cold. "Dude, I told you not to let randoms just come up and touch hi—oh… Hey, Butters."

Butters wasn't going to look up. No, because if he looked up, that meant that he would see who he thought was talking, and since who he thought was talking would never, _ever_ have a baby with Bebe Stevens (or anyone, for that matter), looking up and seeing him would cause a rift in the time-space continuum and send the universe into perpetual chaos.

Because Kenny McCormick was not standing over them with a pack of diapers and a look like he didn't know what to say. Sorry. Whatever God existed wouldn't have let something like this happen. Whatever this was, though… well, Butters wasn't entirely sure he wanted to stick around and find out.

"Gee, I-I'm real sorry," he stammered and stood. "I'd best be gettin' on my way. It was nice to see you, Bebe. You too, Kenny. Good luck with all this baby stuff, a-an' I s'pose I'll see you two around."

He practically ran down the aisle and out of the store, leaving his cart and all sense of reality behind him. He figured he'd get food tomorrow, when Kenny wasn't in the store and Bebe wasn't there telling him that, _Jesus Christ goddamn it all_, they had a baby together. Butters felt his eyes well up with those big fat tears that were absolutely impossible to keep yourself from crying, but he held strong. He took deep breaths in and out, just like they'd taught him to do back in therapy when he'd been a kid, and eventually made it back to his house. He didn't get any further than the couch before he flopped down and let himself go.

Kenny had a baby.

Kenny hadn't talked to him in four years,

And he had a baby.

Kenny had to have been with someone else for that to happen.

He had to have been with a girl for that to happen, for that matter.

Butters rolled over and stared at the ceiling above him. It was worse than he'd thought—Kenny hadn't been bored, he'd been flat-out not into him on a sexual level. He must've been so repulsed by just the thought of having to sleep with Butters that he just up and left. Because Kenny was too nice of a guy to break things off like that, for that reason. He'd even had a hard time telling Karen that she couldn't smoke pot and go see R-rated movies with them, and those were things he definitely hadn't wanted her to do.

Butters sat up and wiped at his eyes. He had no reason to be upset, really. Kenny was free to do as he pleased in the absence of a commitment to Butters (which they hadn't even had when they'd been fucking each other on the most-regular of bases), because Butters certainly had. He could name the few guys he'd been with over the last four years, in order, at the drop of a hat, by dick size, duration of the relationship and quality of the sex. That could have been because Butters had a tendency to organize the shit out of things that didn't need organizing, but still. A year and a half with Luke, seven-and-a-half inches, the mind-blowingly amazing master of fellatio that he'd been said that Butters shouldn't be upset that Kenny had had a fling with Bebe.

Except the only evidence left over from his relationship with Luke had been a boxful of his stupid thrift store clothes and a mix tape he'd made for Butters for their first Valentine's day together. A mix tape from Mr. I'm-too-much-of-an-asshat-for-an-iPod.

Kenny had a baby as a reminder that he'd… Butters twitched. He didn't ever think of himself as the jealous type, but he didn't even like thinking about it. Even so long after being at all intimate with him, Butters could still remember every single sound Kenny ever made, what spots tripped which reactions, what faces he made when you touched this or thrust against that. Butters sighed and grabbed himself through his jeans. The main reason he and Luke had broken it off had been because he'd slipped up and called him 'Kenny' on accident on more than one occasion.

And now apparently the guy who'd fueled every single one of his fantasies since high school was so turned off by the male form that he'd gone and gotten a girl pregnant just to prove it. _Great_.

Butters felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A text message.

_'my idiot bro told me he js saw you in the store… sorry i never told you. he kindof made me swear i wouldn't.'_

Jesus Christ.

Karen.

She must have known too.

Now, Butters could understand Kenny not saying anything, but Karen? Four years out of South Park and he _still_ talked to Karen at least twice a month. They were friends, after all, and even had been before all that nonsense had started between him and Kenny all those years ago. Butters used to let her take dance lessons for free at the studio in town, and hadn't even minded paying the few times he'd been caught coming up short at the end of the day. Why wouldn't _she_ have told him at the very least?

Butters let out an uncomfortable 'oof' as Princess hopped onto his belly and started staring at him with her big blue eyes. For a second, he thought that she may knew he was feeling off, that she may have been offering her sympathy to him in this, the time of his deepest distress. He reached out to touch her, but she didn't react past a little twitch. Butters took it as a good sign and pet her in one, long stroke down her back.

When her teeth and claws sank down into his forearm Butters was hard-pressed to believe that this cat was not the incarnate of Satan himself. He threw her off of him (which only ended in her tearing a few holes in his jacket) and ran to the kitchen to wash the wound.

It wasn't too bad—in fact, the worst part about it was that he'd incurred this injury by way of foul-tempered cat rather than something cool.

As if to mock him, Princess hopped up on the counter and watched placidly as Butters took Bactine from the medicine cabinet and started cleaning up her handiwork. He looked at her for a moment before he presented her with his arm.

"See what you did?" he asked and then, like a crazy person, leaned down so that he was eye level with her and scowled. "I will have you, you miserable little bitch. You hear me?"

Butters only cursed when the cat, unwavering in her stoicism, reached up and scratched him right across the nose.

The only reason that cat wasn't sitting beheaded (by way of meat cleaver, Butters thought wistfully) on the counter was because his phone had started buzzing again. Butters held his phone up to Princess' face and raised his eyebrows.

"You can thank whoever this is for you living to see another day," he said. If cats could roll their eyes Butters imagined she would've done it just then, but being that they couldn't she just looked off to the side, determined to ignore Butters at all costs. Butters scowled and knocked her off the counter, just out of spite, and moved to answer the phone call.

"Hello," he answered as brightly as he'd allow himself.

"If you'd answer your text messages, you'd have known to prepare for company."

The reprimand was accompanied by a swift few knocks on the door. Butters sighed and walked through the living room in a few long strides. He opened the door to see none other than Karen McCormick standing on the other side, smile on her face and two beers in hand. Butters shut his phone and pulled her inside, all with a frown to make sure he absolutely did not approve of her behavior.

"What the heck are you doin' walkin' around town with beer in your hands like that's even the slightest bit legal?" he asked and took the bottles from her hands. Karen rolled her eyes and shoved her hands in the pockets of one of her old, threadbare sweatshirts that she saved for warmer months. She was nothing but skin and bones and there was absolutely no way she didn't need an extra sweater all the time. Underneath she was wearing a waitress's uniform and a pair of vivid fuchsia tights.

"Good Lord, girl, who let you into their place of business dressed like that?" he asked and went to put the beers in the fridge. Well, the one, at least. He popped the cap off of the other one with a bottle opener on his key ring.

"Fuck you," Karen laughed and followed him with a certain bounce to her step. "I brought those over so we could drink them together, you know."

"Yeah right," Butters replied. "And have to face the psychotic wrath of your brother? No thanks."

"Mm," Karen wrinkled her nose. "'my brother' doesn't have the same ring to it as 'your lover'. I liked him much better when you were afraid of the wrath of 'your lover' instead of 'my brother'."

"Fine," Butters agreed and sipped thoughtfully at the utter atrocity that was the beer Stuart McCormick had undoubtedly purchased. "But he's no longer my lover, so you're just gonna have to deal with him bein' your brother from now on."

"I know," Karen sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. She looked down at her fingernails, all chipped with bright green nail polish that she'd undoubtedly borrowed from Ruby or someone, and gave a frustrated huff. "Come on, you know I brought one for myself. Why are you being such a jerk?"

"Because you're eighteen and, like I said, I don't need any more of your brother tonight," Butters said, but went to grab the other beer anyway. He opened it and set it in front of her, even went so far as to clink the necks of their bottles together in a silent toast to something or other, before he sat down and took a long drink.

"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you," Karen said and looked wistfully at the bottle in her hands, like it was the best thing she'd tasted all night. "I'm not kidding when I said he made swear not to say anything to you. He's been really fucking weird about this whole thing."

"I reckon I would be too if I had a baby before my own damn soft spot closed up," Butters mumbled into his beer.

"Hey," Karen said pointedly, using her bottle to gesture, "You know when Kevin had his first kid?"

"When he was sevent—"

"When he was seventeen, exactly," Karen finished for him. "You know what it's like to be an auntie when you're only twelve?"

"Can't say that I do, no," Butters shook his head. Karen snorted and took a long pull off of her beer.

"You know Kevin got out three kids before Kenny even got out one?" she asked. "How fucking depressing is _that_?"

"Not as depressing as it would've been if you'd had three kids before Kenny," Butters shrugged. He was always an advocate for looking on the bright side of things. Karen just raised her bottle in a silent toast and Butters clinked with her again.

"How'd it happen?" Butters asked when Karen took another sip.

"Patrick?"

"Who?"

"The baby, dear, let's try to keep up with the rest of the class," Karen said very methodically. Butters flipped her off, but let her continue. "I don't even know. He just came home one day and told me that Bebe was pregnant, that she was having the baby, and that he was going to keep it."

"And that was that?" Butters asked.

"Well, no," Karen shook her head. "He took more hours at work so he could pay for her doctor's appointments and stuff. Bebe's parents eventually had to end up helping them… they're not too happy that Kenny insisted on keeping him. He's paying them back for everything, but they're still all over his nuts about whether or not he should have Patrick at all."

"Jesus," Butters frowned.

"Yeah," Karen sighed. "Bebe's tried to call them off on several occasions, but they're not having any of it. She doesn't even want to be a mom, you know? Kenny was the one who was all 'no, dude, keep it, it'll be fun'."

"He did not say that," Butters rolled his eyes.

"Well, no," Karen admitted, staring fixedly at the table. "He may as well have, though. I've never seen him want anything more, though, you know? Like, when he came home and told me that he was going to be a dad, it was like… the happiest I'd ever seen him. Except for when he was with you, of course."

Butters felt something odd settle in his chest. Kenny had wanted a kid? Something in the back of Butters' mind indicated that he knew this, that Kenny had made a passing mention of kids once, but that could just as easily have been something to do with never wanting kids. It was a toss-up—Butters could definitely hear him saying both. Maybe that was why he'd run away, knowing Butters couldn't give him what he wanted more than anything. Babies.

Babies, babies, babies.

Fuck, he'd had enough baby talk for one day.

"So what's all this," Butters gestured to Karen's uniform. She laughed and undid the bun on top of her head. She actually had very pretty hair when it wasn't all matted down by grease and grime.

"I got a new job," she squared her shoulders and smiled, like she was too proud of herself for words. "A waitress at a diner over in that new strip mall. It's a gimmicky place, with all these pictures of movie stars and crap from the fifties on the walls. Hence, the tremendously fashion-forward uniform."

"I was about to say," Butters could only see her skirt, light blue with white polka-dots, but could only imagine the horrors that were kitschy 1950s ploys. "Couldn't just wear some pants?"

"Ugh, I wish," Karen rolled her eyes. "The worst part is that I don't get nearly as many tips as anyone else because I don't have the fucking chest to fill this stupid thing."

"I can imagine that would be horrible," Butters nodded, falsely sympathetic, and laughed when Karen kicked him under the table.

"Whatever," she sighed and leaned forward on the table. She looked him over in the same way Kenny did when he knew you were hiding something. Karen wasn't quite as intuitive as Kenny—no one was, to Butters' knowledge—but she was pretty good at picking up on things regardless. "Did seeing him really hit you that hard?" she asked.

"No," Butters lied, picking at the label on the bottle with his fingernail.

"Wow," Karen whistled. "You really care about him that much still?"

"Heck no," Butters shot back with a little bit of a frown on his face. "Can't a guy just be fuckin' surprised about something? Jesus."

"Sure he can," Karen nodded. "Surprised that he's upset about his ex-lover having a child with someone else."

She always said the word 'lover' like they'd been having some torrid and steamy affair when they'd been together. Butters didn't have the heart to tell her that it was really just them locking themselves in Kenny's room and fucking until neither of them could see straight.

Sometimes they went out for pizza or saw a movie together.

"I'm not upset about that," Butters insisted. "Just surprised that someone I know has a baby is all."

"Whatever you say," Karen shrugged. "But just so you know, no one ever turned green with _surprise_."

Butters stared at her for a second—her cheeks were bright pink and her big brown eyes were glazed over with what was probably a fantastic buzz. She was only half a beer in, but she was the absolute definition of a lightweight. She was tall and thin like Kenny, only while Kenny had spent his youth building up a tolerance to drugs and alcohol, Karen had abstained until… Butters was assuming recently.

"You need a ride home, sweetheart?" he asked, setting his bottle, still half-way full, down on the table. Karen sighed and blew some of her light brown bangs off of her forehead, like Butters was infantilizing her by even daring to ask the question. Then she seemed to have a change of heart and buried her face in her hands.

"Yes, please."


	3. Chapter 2

It was brought to my attention that I neglected to explain this: **the prologue** is set **seven years after** the story actually takes place. I'll go back and fix it, and it really is **moot** since anyone reading still has probably figured that out, but I felt it was worth saying anyway.

**Thank you **to my **readers** and **reviewers**. Your feedback totally makes my day a little brighter.

* * *

><p>Butters spent the next couple of days evading all contact with the world outside. This was a lot easier now that his parents were away, since he so often spent most of his time in his room when they were up and around the house. At least now he could stretch out on the couch and watch big blocks of Keeping up with the Kardashians, Tabatha's Salon Takeover, and Millionaire Matchmaker without being disturbed by his dad telling him to turn it on something a little less queer.<p>

Or worse, his mom sitting on the couch next to him with her knitting in her lap and asking Butters what was happening every twenty seconds.

No, over the last four years he'd grown accustomed to his time alone. His roommate back in school, while pretty mellow, spent most of his time in the library buried in old records and historical journals, so Butters just got used to being by himself. He liked it—if he was alone, there was no one to judge him for talking back to the TV when someone did something stupid, or whacking off when Kim Kardashian was doing something that _totally_ warranted it.

He figured he probably needed a little time out of the house, however, when he went outside to pick up the paper and visibly winced at the sunlight hitting his skin. Despite it being the middle of June, Butters pulled on his old pair of galoshes that he always had at the ready by the door, grabbed his wallet and keys off of the little table by the door, and decided to pay Karen a visit at work.

The place was just about what Butters expected when he'd heard 1950s—all black and white checkerboard patterns, an electric jukebox, a picture of a pinup girl holding a burger plastered in the front window, and a nice, shiny counter at which Butters promptly sat. Karen saw him from a little further down, where she was refilling an older man's coffee, and gave him a wave.

"Well, well," she said as she walked over and grabbed a menu from underneath the counter for him. "Nice to see you're alive and not answering my texts. Better than the alternative, I suppose."

"Me being dead and _answering_ your text messages?" Butters asked with a smile. Karen rolled her eyes and poured him a cup of stale-smelling coffee.

"I can't believe you," she said and set the coffee pot back down on its warmer behind her. "I spend the last four years watching Say Yes to the Dress with Ruby, who _hates_ that show _by _the way, and the first chance we get to be reunited at last, you blow me off to stay home and, what, watch it by yourself?"

"That's pretty much it, yeah," Butters nodded, not bothering to mention his two-hour block of watching horrible internet porn under the covers in his room. Karen put a hand on her hip and leaned against the counter.

"My sassy gay is finally back in town," she said. "And you are _denying_ me."

"Aw, come on," Butters muttered as he added a few things of cream and sugar to his coffee. "I'm not _that _sassy. You need a sassy gay? You got a smartass bisexual for a brother—they're just as good."

"Oh, they are not and you know it," Karen scowled and looked over Butters' shoulder. "Speak of the devil: incoming."

"What?" Butters asked and attempted to turn around, but Karen caught him by the face and looked him in the eye.

"If you run, I will come find you and beat your twinkie ass into the ground," she said as the bell on the door jingled ominously. "Chin up, shoulders back, and remember: you are a strong woman of independent means."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Butters frowned, his cheeks pinched together between Karen's fingers. Karen let go of him just as a body slid into the seat beside Butters and leaned on the counter. Butters would've recognized that familiar warmth all along his right side anywhere.

"Hey there, kids," Kenny greeted both of them amiably as Karen poured him a cup of coffee. Both Karen and Butters mumbled their own garbled greetings before an order came up in the kitchen and Karen was miraculously spared the intensely awkward silence that ensued. Butters sat with his hands cradling his mug of coffee, while Kenny held his to his lips and blew the heat off of the top. Butters caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye, lips pursed and eyes fixed on the wall, like he didn't know his labret ring was resting against the lip of the mug, like he didn't know how badly Butters wanted to pounce on him and lick his face off right there.

Knowing Kenny, he probably didn't.

"So," Kenny began, "you're back in town."

"Aw gee, you noticed," Butters looked over with a cheeky smile. Kenny gave him a sidelong glance and smiled back.

"How long are you here for?" he asked and Butters let out a sigh. That wasn't the kind of thing Kenny asked… That was the kind of thing Butters told Kenny people asked and Kenny methodically avoided discussing thereafter. So many people had asked Butters what he was going to school for before he'd left, what he wanted to do with his interests, and Kenny had spent a lot of time and energy steering Butters' mind elsewhere when he'd gotten stressed out about it. Kenny was pretty good at misdirection, Butters would give him that… he couldn't help but think about how nice that would've been when school was at its worst.

"I, uh," Butters coughed. "I guess I'm here indefinitely? Kinda couldn't keep up with rent once my roommate moved out."

"Shit," Kenny sipped at his coffee. Butters smiled, because he still drank it black just like he had when they were seventeen. "That sucks, dude."

"Pretty much," Butters nodded and leaned his chin on his hands. "What about you?"

"What about me?" Kenny asked lightly and began fiddling with the little box of sweeteners between him and Butters.

"Why the heck are you even here?" Butters asked. "Don't you have a baby or somethin'?"

He didn't realize how petty and acerbic it had sounded until Kenny turned and looked at him full on, one eyebrow raised and absolutely _begging_ Butters to say that again. Butters cleared his throat and drummed his fingers against his warm ceramic mug. Kenny continued staring at him and stood, tossing a few dollars on the counter before he gave Karen a curt goodbye and left without so much as a blink. As expected, Butters didn't have to wait another second before Karen descended upon him.

"What the hell did you do?" she accused almost immediately.

"I didn't do anything!" Butters exclaimed, but Karen wasn't having any of it. She braced both of her hands on the counter and raised an eyebrow. Fuck, she and Kenny looked way too much alike.

"If you don't run after him and fix whatever the fuck you just did," she began, voice dangerously low, "I will castrate you."

Butters didn't need to be told twice. He set down some money for his coffee and scrambled out of the diner. Kenny hadn't gotten very far, and was in fact waiting for the light to change at the crosswalk. Butters frowned—Kenny had never been above jaywalking before. He jogged over to him stood there for a moment before he realized that Kenny wasn't going to turn around of his own volition.

"Hey," he placed a hand on his shoulder, only to be shrugged away. Butters rolled his eyes as the lights changed and Kenny began walking. "Don't you ignore me."

"Who's ignoring you?" Kenny turned and asked. "My break is over in three minutes. I have to get back to work."

"Don't bullshit me, Kenny," Butters scowled and caught up with him. Kenny's legs were longer than his, but Butters could hustle. "Look, I'm sorry I got a little pissy back there, but gimme a break! I didn't even know you _had_ a baby until the other day."

"Yeah," Kenny nodded. "And you're treating me like every other fucking asshole in this town now that you do know. Thanks for that—I never tire of being proven wrong."

"Aw Jesus," Butters groaned, fighting a little laugh of disbelief. "Good. Pull the martyr act. You want me to nail you to the cross too or somethin'?"

Kenny held out a hand and stopped walking, hitting Butters square in the chest so he would stop walking too.

"Are you—you're being an asshole," he said, like he'd just pieced together the world's most confounding puzzle. He turned to look at Butters with a look of absolute confusion on his face. "Why are you being an asshole?"

"I don't know," Butters deflated and shoved his hands in his pockets. He wasn't entirely up to looking Kenny in the eye quite yet. "Maybe 'cause you didn't bother to tell me you had a kid."

Kenny barked out a laugh and grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of his pockets, sticking one in his mouth and patting around for a lighter.

"Why the fuck would you pissed about that?" Kenny asked. "This isn't Maury Povich; it's not like he's yours."

"It's a baby!" Butters exclaimed. "It's kind of one of those 'big deal' things I thought you'd tell me about."

"I didn't tell anyone, Butters," Kenny snapped and pulled out his lighter—a nice Zippo with a pinup girl sitting on a horseshoe, a loopy 'Lucky' emblazoned below her in black. It was in fact the same lighter Butters had gotten him for Christmas the year that they'd sort of officially been not entirely together. Before he could light up, Butters grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and lighter out of his hands.

"The hell do you think you're doing, mister?" he chastised. "You want your kid turnin' out asthmatic?"

"It's not like I'm having a cig with a baby on my fucking hip," Kenny moved to grab the cigarette, but Butters stuck it in his own mouth and lit up. He only ever smoked when he was with Kenny and when he did he'd usually just smoke weed, but there was always something so satisfying in the look on Kenny's face when Butters stole one of his cigarettes and took a drag.

He'd never smoked an entire one before, though. This was going to be fun.

Kenny just looked at him with that entirely bored look on his face and slipped his hands in his pockets.

"You know I have an entire pack on me, right?" he asked. Butters took a drag and nodded.

"Yeah," he coughed and inhaled again. He had the feeling that he was starting to look very green, because Kenny was rolling his eyes now and clenching his fist around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

"You're just gonna smoke that whole thing, then," he said.

Butters couldn't speak anymore for fear that he was going to start coughing up blood, so he just nodded and let the acrid smoke wordlessly burn at his lungs. Kenny sighed and took the cigarettes out of his pocket and handed them to Butters.

"Here," he said, wagging them when Butters looked at him blankly. "Take them, but stub that fucking thing out. You're a pathetic excuse for a smoker."

"Oh, thank you Mary mother of Jesus," Butters coughed and put the cigarette out on the sidewalk. He took the pack from Kenny and tucked them away into his pocket before walking to the nearest trashcan to dispose of the half-smoked cigarette. Kenny followed him, looking at him with a mix of emotions Butters couldn't really identify as good or bad.

"Could you just—" Kenny began, but thought better of it and instead just grabbed the lighter out of Butters' hand. Butters felt a little swell of something that he quickly doused when Kenny folded his arms and scuffed his big bulky boots on the concrete.

"You-you gotta start takin' better care of yourself now that you're a dad," Butters said, more to fill the silence than anything. Kenny just rolled his eyes and kept walking along, probably to get back to work. Except…

Wait a second.

Kenny worked at a convenience store on the other side of town.

"Say, Ken," Butters ran to catch up with him. "Isn't work the other way?"

"I don't work there anymore," Kenny shrugged as they came to the front of a building with a few darkened windows. "This place pays better anyway," he said and pushed the door open. Butters followed him inside, tagging along closely to let him know that they weren't done talking.

And also because he could smell Kenny if he walked close enough and he'd really missed that smell, however weird a thing that was to miss.

"So how old is he?" Butters asked as he followed Kenny back into a stock room he probably wasn't supposed to be in. Kenny stopped and looked him up and down before giving a little laugh.

"Suddenly so curious?" he asked. Butters rolled his eyes.

"'course I am," he said. "He's your kid, ain't he? And, I mean… we're still friends, right?"

Kenny looked at him warily for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh and sitting on a stack of boxes.

"Yeah, Butters," he said. "_Friends_."

"Well, all right," Butters grinned decidedly and sat beside him, even if Kenny did say '_friends'_ a little too insistently for his liking. Still, 'friends' was better than nothing, and if Kenny was so busy getting girls pregnant it was obvious that that all they would be. Butters was kind of okay with that.

Only kind of.

Even if he knew he was setting himself up for a world of heartache, he gave Kenny a one-armed hug around the shoulders and an absolutely winning smile when he turned to give him a look. That smile always worked wonders when Kenny was feeling down about something—Butters felt his shoulders sag as his resolve to be a hardened jackass dwindled down to almost nothing.

"Well, he's got a name, first of all," Kenny began.

"Yeah, Patrick," Butters said with a smile. "Heck, even I know that. I got my sources."

"Who, my sister?" Kenny laughed. "Guess I should've known. You were always pretty chummy with her… I never thanked you for that, by the way."

"For what?" Butters felt his eyebrows furrow together.

"Uh, checking up on her and shit when I was gone," Kenny said through a nervous fidget that made Butters drop his arm back to his down to his side. "Making sure she was okay and got fed and everything."

"Eh, you left me with one smart cookie," Butters shrugged. "Pretty much took care of herself for the most part."

Butters noticed Kenny's ever so slight lean forward, like he maybe wanted to… wanted to kiss him? Butters shook it off as a leftover reaction, a habit he'd yet to break since the last time they'd seen each other, and ran his hands over his knees.

"So, you never did tell me how old Patrick is," he said. Kenny smiled and leaned forward, arms on his knees and face in his hands.

"Six months next week," he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "Kid's putting me through the fucking ringer."

"Yeah, well," Butters began. "He's a baby. They do that."

"Ha-ha," Kenny mused darkly and stuck out his tongue. Butters kind of wanted to take him by the face and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of him, but… that's not what they did anymore. And Butters was completely okay with that.

Maybe.

"Well," he said and scooted forward a little. "Babies are a lot to handle on your own. I think it's pretty darn admirable of you to do this."

"Nah, I've got help," Kenny shook his head and stood. Butters tagged right along as he walked back out into the actual storefront. "My mom or Karen'll usually babysit when I'm at work, but Bebe's here so she's spending literally all of her time with him now. Of course, when she goes back to school next week I'm royally fucked, since Karen and my mom are both working now. I mean, God knows my mom won't last too long, but you know."

"Well hey," Butters said. "I'm here house-sitting for my folks for the next month. If you ever need a babysitter, you just holler. I'm awful good with babies an' little kids an' stuff."

Kenny stopped in his tracks, right by a cash register, and looked at Butters like he'd just told him that he was the Messiah.

"Don't fuck with me, dude," he said very carefully. "If you mean it, I swear to God, I'll get down on my knees and fellate you right now."

Butters went a little pink in the face, which was only a little dumb considering the fact that Kenny had had Butters' dick down his throat more times than either of them could count, and gave a nervous, voice-cracking laugh as he mashed his knuckles together.

"That'll be good for all the customers," came a voice from behind a magazine. It was that same issue of Cosmo that Butters' mom had on the coffee table. From behind the rag appeared Red, reclined back with her feet kicked up on the counter like she owned the place or something.

"Oh," Butters coughed. "H-hey there, Rebecca," he gave a little smile.

"Huh-hey there, Leopold," she replied back and snapped her gum. "If Mr. Cocksmith over there decides to go down on your fine ass right now, at least let me take video and post it up on youporn or something. People need to know we run a classy establishment."

Kenny rolled his eyes and leaned with one hand against the counter.

"She may or may not be kidding," he said. Butters gave another laugh and found that he couldn't look Kenny in the eye. He couldn't afford popping a stiffy at Kenny's work, for goodness sake. He focused his attention elsewhere, at the shelf right behind Kenny's head, and tried to count to ten.

Only, on the shelf behind Kenny's head was about the biggest dildo he'd ever seen. Butters whipped around, suddenly unable to ignore the battery-powered hunks of brightly-colored plastic surrounding him. But it wasn't just that—it was lingerie in one corner, books and movies in another, gag gifts and novelty items scattered all around, and Kenny and Red's laughter behind him.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Butters breathed and turned to look at Kenny again. "Has this place always been here?"

This only made Kenny and Red laugh even harder, so hard that Red's feet were now on the ground and they were both doubled over.

"Oh man," Red howled. "Did you see his face? Fuck, I love getting the virgins in here."

Butters stilled and looked to Kenny, who'd only just collapsed to the floor with laughter. He looked a little like he couldn't breathe, and Butters was worried he was about to have to dial 911 for assistance before Kenny finally managed to get out a wheezy, "Butters, a _virgin_," like it was the most amusing thought in the world.

Butters guessed it probably was to a guy who'd once been tied to a headboard by that said same 'virgin'. Red covered her mouth then, still laughing, and gave Butters a very apologetic look.

"I'm so sorry, hon," she breathed and then gave him a thumbs up. "Good for you."

Butters rolled his eyes and crouched down beside Kenny.

"All right, I'm just about done with all of this," he said. "You call me if you ever need a babysitter, 'kay?" He patted Kenny on the thigh and stood back up, gave Red a smile, and started out of the store. He only got a few paces out onto the sidewalk before Kenny caught him and put a hand on his shoulder. Butters turned and felt his heart skip a beat. He was all red in the face from laughing, happy and high like he'd been when they were kids. Butters was kind of glad he was able to make Kenny feel like that again, however inadvertent it had been.

"I get off at three," Kenny said. "If you wanna wait, you could come over and meet Patrick a little more formally."

"Formally?" Butters asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Like, puttin' him in a little tuxedo or somethin'?"

Kenny laughed and put his hands on his hips.

"No, you fucking weirdo," he shook his head. "Like, if you wanted to come and get familiar with him or whatever. You know, just so… if I ever need you or anything, you won't be going in blind, you know?"

"Oh," Butters gave a little laugh. "Yeah, sure. I'll wait in the diner with Karen?"

"Sure you don't wanna hang with me and Red?" Kenny cocked his head. "We just got a new Backdoor Sluts movie in, and I need a customer review to put up on the wall."

"Tempting," Butters found himself smiling. "But I think I'll go keep Karen some company since you already got some."

Kenny's smile softened for about half a second before he shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Fair enough," he said. "See you in a few hours, then?"

Butters nodded and smiled even bigger when Kenny gave him a little wave and walked back into the store. In fact, he found that he couldn't get rid of his smile even as he walked all the way back to the diner where Karen was waiting for him, poised and ready to attack with a rather unthreatening butter knife. One look at his face and she went limp.

"Guess I don't need this," she looked at the knife almost like she was disappointed and set it down behind her.

"Nah," Butters shook his head as he sat at the counter again. "I'm gonna go see your nephew after Kenny's done with his shift at the _South Park Sex Emporium_. Good Lord, that place hasn't always been there, has it?"

Karen laughed and folded her arms across her chest.

"Found out about that, huh?" she asked. "It used to be a beading store or something but someone bought the place out a few years ago and now it's _Hidden Pleasures_." Karen finished in a rather theatrical voice as she gave a little flourish with her hand that made Butters laugh just a little too hard.

He stayed at the counter for the next few hours, talking with Karen and reading a trashy book his mom had left out in the car. He even attempted to decline a slice of apple pie when Karen set it down in front of him before she shoved a fork in his hand and insisted. Then she brought a basket of onion rings and a milkshake for them to share when it was time for her to go on her break.

"Hola, amiga and amigo," came Kenny's painfully mispronounced Spanish from behind them. Butters and Karen both turned around to greet him, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with a set of keys. Karen hopped off the stool and gave him a hug, then offered him the basket of onion rings. He grabbed two and shoved them both into his face at once.

"You off soon?" he asked through a mouthful of food. Karen rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Six," she said. "And mom's not off 'til nine, which means I'll be taking the bus home _again_."

"Well, I got my car here," Butters chimed in, stilling only a little when both McCormicks turned to look at him expectantly. "Kenny, if you wanted to leave your car for Karen, I could just drive you home and then she can drive back when she gets off."

Kenny gave Karen a look, at which Karen seemed to shrug in silent consent, and tossed her the keys to his car.

"Be careful," he said. "She's got a mean pull to right."

Karen gave him a little salute and sat back on the stool. Butters grabbed his book, gave Karen a hug, and headed out the door with Kenny following close behind him. While he searched every pocket for his keys, Kenny grabbed the book from him and started thumbing through it.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked.

"Oh, it's one of them stupid romance novels my mom reads," Butters shook his head and got in the car. "She keeps 'em stashed everywhere in case of emergency."

"And you read them?" Kenny grinned as he ducked in the car and shut the door.

"Sorry, I left my Chaucer at home," Butters rolled his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing," Butters shook his head. "Trust me, I'm bein' funny."

"I figured," Kenny snorted and kicked his feet up on the dash as they drove out of the parking lot. They spent most of the drive in silence, Butters taking the occasional direction from Kenny, but for the most part they listened to the radio until it became nothing but commercials on every station. Kenny took the liberty of reaching over and switching over to whatever CD was in the player. The all-too familiar sound of Aretha Franklin flooded the car, and Butters frowned.

"Wait a second," he muttered and skipped a song. One song after the other, Butters realized knew this CD. He stopped on a James Brown song and smacked the steering wheel. "She stole my CD. I been lookin' for this one everywhere."

"I made you this, didn't I?" Kenny asked. Butters opened his mouth to reply before realizing that, yes, Kenny had made this for him. Silence fell once more, Kenny leaning forward to switch the songs when he heard the words 'sex machine'. And again when 'At Last' came on, and yet again with 'Baby I Love You', and again still when the rather facetious addition of 'Natural Woman' poured out of the speaker. Butters took it upon himself to shut off the sound system entirely and continue on driving without saying another word.

Kenny apparently lived in a little community of houses in an until-recently-undeveloped part of town. Butters vaguely remembered something about the houses being built before he'd left, but they were finished now and were actually pretty nice. Kenny told him to stop in front of a light blue house, complete with a nicely mown lawn and neatly trimmed hedges—a vast step up from the front yard littered with tires, cinderblocks, and spare car parts Kenny had grown up with. He probably wanted to start his kid off with a house life early. Butters couldn't say he blamed him… just about anything was a step up from what Kenny had had to deal with as a kid.

Butters hated to think that so much of his initial affection for Kenny had been based in pity, but he couldn't help it—he'd been kind of a pushover at seventeen and he'd flat-out felt sorry for the guy. Now, though… Jesus, judging by the size of this house, Butters would be lucky if Kenny stooped to feel bad for _him_.

Kenny unlocked the door—weird, considering Bebe was there and locking your doors wasn't exactly the McCormick custom when someone was home—and pulled Butters inside. Bebe was on the floor in front of the couch in the suspiciously tidy-ish living room, also apparently marathoning reality TV if the bag of chips, the pajamas, and the vacant expression on her face were anything to go by. Patrick was on a blanket beside her, propped up on his stomach and drooling on a set of big plastic keys.

"Hey, Bebe," Kenny walked over and kissed her on top of the head. "How is he?"

"The quietest he's been all day," Bebe said a little distantly. "He won't nap, he won't eat… all he wants to do is chew on that stupid thing and cry."

"Oh, he's probably teething," Butters interjected. Bebe, Kenny, and Patrick all looked over at him, Patrick with a happy gurgle and Bebe with a tired smile as she pushed herself up off of the floor and moved to give him a hug.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she asked.

"A right sight better than you," Butters laughed and put his hands on both of her shoulders. "That fella got a bed made up for you somewhere?"

Bebe nodded and rested her forehead against Butters'.

"I think maybe you should go take a nap," Butters said. Bebe opened her eyes, bright hazel and bloodshot as all hell, and took a step back.

"I think maybe he's crazy for thinking this would be fun," she replied, but still kissed Butters on the cheek and trudged up the stairs to find a pillowy surface to fall asleep on. Kenny was leaning against the couch, arms folded and legs crossed in a way that made Butters' stomach feel all funny in a really inappropriate way.

"Whatever, I think it _is_ fun," Kenny said just as Patrick gave an unhappy squeal at being so long ignored. Butters crouched beside him, about to pick him up and give him a happy hello, when Kenny gave an ear-piercing whistle and gave him a look.

"What?" Butters frowned.

"Go wash your hands," Kenny said, and Butters almost laughed until Kenny raised his eyebrow and cocked his head toward the kitchen. "Now," he said. Butters leapt to his feet and washed his hands in what had to have been record time, even after Kenny shouted 'thirty seconds or it doesn't count!' all the way back to him. When he returned, Kenny stopped him and looked him directly in the eye.

"Drop him, hurt him, make him cry, and I will fucking _end_ you," he said very simply. Butters nodded, only more than a little frightened as Kenny let him go. Butters, deciding that it was probably a better idea to be closer to the ground, sat beside Patrick and pulled him into his lap.

"Hey there," he said, a smile on his face. "Remember me? You almost made a meal outta my fingers the other night."

Patrick giggled and put his hands on Butters' face, grabbing and squishing at his cheeks until he was satisfied. He contorted around in Butter's grasp until he saw Kenny, and gave an excited 'da!'

"Yep, that's your dad," Butters nodded, looking at Kenny himself now. "He made me wash up before I came over to say hi to you. He's a little crazy, ain't he?"

"I am not!" Kenny exclaimed, and Butters laughed. Patrick was now grabbing at his hair, entirely bored by his father now and completely fascinated by Butters yet again. Kenny rolled his eyes and walked over, reaching down for Patrick before Butters held him close and gave Kenny a reprimanding look.

"Did you wash your hands, mister?" he asked. Kenny scowled and folded his arms, but Butters was having none of that. "You know all the _diseases_ you could have on those hands? Let's see," he said, looking at Patrick now, "what're all the diseases daddy could've given you just now? You've got the chicken pox, the Super AIDS, you've got the bird flu, you've got—"

"Jesus, dude!" Kenny groaned and made a move toward the kitchen. "People don't know where their hands have been. It's a common practice to wash your hands before you touch a baby."

"You work in a," Butters looked over at Patrick and covered one of his ears with his hands, "in an S-E-X shop and you're worried about where _my_ hands have been?"

"Spelling it out?" Kenny appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish rag. "Are we nine? It's not a bad word, or a bad thing even, so what's the big deal? Watch this: Sex."

Butters looked at him blankly for a second before leaning in close to Patrick's ear.

"Sounds like someone's a grump today," he said and Patrick giggled, probably more from the sensation of words against his ear than from their actual content because, come on, how could he know? Kenny just nodded, pretending to be amused as he threw down the dish towel and sat beside Butters.

"Come on, give me my kid," he said, and Butters obliged. Kenny sat with his back against the couch, his knees propped up so Patrick could sit against his legs and look at him. Butters felt Kenny relax beside him, slipping into a world that was nothing but him and his kid, and he couldn't help it—he kind of felt a little like he was intruding on a private moment. Butters propped his chin up on his hand and looked at the both of them with what had to be a dopey smile on his face.

"Looks a lot like you," he said. Kenny smiled and ran his fingers over the thin wisps of hair on Patrick's head.

"My mom says so too, but I think he looks more like Bebe," he replied, and at this point Butters would have grabbed Kenny by the face and kissed the doubt right out of him.

But he couldn't. He couldn't because that's not how they were anymore. That was… that was harder to grasp than Butters thought it would be. In his mind he knew, but his body seemed to think that they were going to pick up where they left off, that this was the morning after the last time they'd slept together,

Like Butters hadn't woken up alone in his bed without as much as a note explaining why.

Butters snapped out of his musings the moment he realized that Patrick was staring at him in that way babies did about a split second before all hell broke loose. There wasn't any time to issue a warning before he started wailing.

"Oh, fuck," Kenny muttered. "You didn't nap today, did you?" he asked just as his phone started ringing. He gave Butters a desperate look, and Butters rolled his eyes and took Patrick from him so he could answer his phone. Butters stood and held Patrick close to his chest (only slightly chuffed when they baby stopped crying almost immediately), looking over at Kenny and pointing in the general direction of upstairs. Kenny nodded and kept talking on the phone, which only made Butters roll his eyes and mutter something into Patrick's ear about his dad being a weirdo.

He ascended the stairs and walked down the hall. The house was smaller than most others in South Park, but Butters assumed that was only so they could build more in the space they were given. The first room was the one Bebe must've been staying in, if the suitcase on the floor and a sacked out Bebe on the bed were any indication, and the door on the other side was a bathroom.

Kenny's room was at the end of the hallway, cleaner than Butters thought it would have been, but that was probably because he now had things worth taking care of. The décor was sparse, with clothes strewn here and there and the little bed unmade, but it was probably the neatest he'd ever seen any room of Kenny's. The most remarkable thing Butters noted, however, was how close Patrick's crib was to Kenny's bed. Instead of an end table, the crib was butted all the way up against the very edge of the bed, and Butters knew it was so Kenny never had to wake up and wonder if his son was okay. He'd slept in Karen's room the winter she'd gotten a bad case of bronchitis, and he hardly left his mom's bedside when she'd needed that emergency appendectomy when he was sixteen.

"I know it seems like a lot," Butters said as he lay Patrick down in the crib. "He's just protective is all—'s in his nature. He'll lighten up, though… maybe." Patrick stared at him for a few bleary seconds before Butters gave him a smile and turned to leave. Apparently that was not going to fly, for Patrick only started crying again, harder this time. Butters rolled his eyes and turned back to him.

"That's how it's gonna be, huh?" he asked as he went to sit beside the crib. "Boy, you're just gonna give me a whole heap of trouble, aren't you." Patrick's wails turned into soft sobs in a manner of seconds, and completely disappeared when Butters stuck his hand through the bars and let him grab his fingers. Blessedly, he'd fallen asleep by the time Kenny walked in a few minutes later, relieved as all hell to see him asleep.

"Dude, you're the fucking baby whisperer or some shit," Kenny laughed and sat beside him, a little too close for comfort as he patted him on the thigh. Butters swallowed the lump in his throat and stood. Hopefully Kenny hadn't seen the color on his cheeks or heard his little intake of breath.

"H-happy I could help," he said and put his hands on his hips. "You, uh… just let me know if you need me an' I'll be happy to oblige. I just—I gotta go. I'll see you later."

"Butters, are you—"

"Tell Bebe it was nice seein' her again," Butters said, not looking back at Kenny as he hurried out of the room and out of the house.


	4. Chapter 3

The only reason this is even done today is because the wonderful and ever-talented **scarlettshazam** puts up with my shit and pushes me into writing. So yay.

Happy (one of the many nights of) Hanukkah to you all, a Happy Winter Solstice, and if I don't see you before then, a Merry Christmas too. You're all fabulous and you deserve the best of holidays. :)

* * *

><p>"Mom, I swear she's fine," Butters said as he lifted the skirt on his parents' bed, searching desperately for any sign of Princess. He knew she was in the house—she'd eaten the food he'd set out for her the day before, had chewed through Butter's headphones, and shed possibly <em>all<em> of her hair onto Butters' last clean pillow case. He rolled his eyes as his mom kept talking, giving up on this leg of his search when he realized that Princess wasn't anywhere under the bed, and went to look in the linen closet again.

"I just want to say hi to her," his mom said, which made Butters stop cold and actually look at the phone in absolute horror. He even mouthed an 'oh my fucking god' just for good measure, even if there wasn't anyone around to see.

"Well, uh," Butters sighed when he saw the linen closet full of nothing but just that—linens. "She's—aw, gee, she's in the litter box right now."

"I'll wait," his mother said.

Butters covered the receiver and mouthed the word 'fuck' over and over again until searched every corner of the upstairs and came up empty-handed. He tromped down the stairs and slid into the kitchen, where Princess was thankfully perched atop the fridge.

"All right, here she is," Butters said and help the phone up to the cat. Princess sniffed at the receiver, and Butters rolled his eyes when he could hear his mother's infantilizing coos on the other end of the phone. He waited until Princess gave a curious yowl before he pulled the phone back to his ear and sighed.

"I told you she was fine," he said.

"I know," his mom gave a happy sigh. "I just like hearing her voice."

Butters rolled his eyes.

"And Florida's nice?" he asked. The only time they ever went was to visit his cousins in Tampa—his parents were in some posh place in Miami as far as Butters knew, enjoying the sun and the beach while they stuck their only son at home with some vicious beast straight out of the ninth circle of Hell.

"It's wonderful, honey," she replied. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen your father so relaxed."

"I'll bet," Butters heard himself say as he fiddled with a pen on the counter.

"Have you seen any of your old friends from school?" she asked. "Please tell me you're getting out—I hate to think of you cooped up in that house all alone."

"I'm fine, mom, I swear," Butters said and rubbed a hand over his face. He hated when people worried about him. Like he couldn't take care of himself? Worrying was _his_ job, dang it.

"If you say so," his mother replied. "Have you looked for a job yet?"

Butters sighed—how dare she ask such a valid question. He'd kind of been putting it off, though, to be honest. He was just hoping everyone else would extend him the courtesy of forgetting that he was supposed to become an adult now and just let him be for a little while, but apparently not.

"Was just doing that when you called," he lied. He looked up at Princess and made a rude hand gesture, of which she evidently did not approve since she hopped off of the fridge and sauntered out of the room.

"Oh, good!" his mother exclaimed brightly. There was a beat before Butters heard some commotion on the other end of the phone and his mother's laughter. "Oh, goodness... Honey, your father forgot to put on sunscreen before he left. I have to give him a hand, but I'll talk to you soon."

"All right," Butters said, afraid to laugh. If he laughed he knew it would come out petty and vindictive.

"Love you, sweets."

"You too, mom," Butters said and promptly hung up the phone. "Fuckin' nut job."

He drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment or two before he heaved a sigh and conceded to societal pressures—this meant that it was as good a time as any to actually start a job search. A quick trip up the stairs to grab his laptop, an old yellow thing adorned with stickers he'd collected over his college career, a cup of tea, and a marathon of I Used to be Fat found Butters combing the internet for jobs.

He spent the next few hours filling out few applications for some odds and ends things in Littleton, and another couple in Denver, but mostly he felt like applying for jobs in China or something because that was the only way he'd ever get away from this hell he called a hometown. Crazy parents, a vicious cat-sibling, and an ex with a baby… The only way it could get worse would be if the flesh-eating virus had somehow made his way into his system and was just biding its time.

Butters looked up from his computer, suddenly feeling a little itchy under his skin, and figured he should probably try to distract himself before he fell into a hysterical fit of hypochondria. He grabbed the remote control and flipped through just about every channel his parents' fancy cable box got, settling on a classic movie channel that happened to be playing a Fred Astaire marathon.

"Sweet baby Jesus, take me home," Butters muttered and curled up on the sofa, clutching a pillow to his chest as he watched the black and white figures dance around on the screen. He'd once inadvertently put Kenny up to watching the whole Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers collection with him one day, the only good part of which being that Kenny had fallen asleep on Butters' chest halfway through _The Gay Divorcee_.

_Fuck_. He had to stop torturing himself like that. He wasn't going to sit there and think about how amazing Kenny McCormick smelled after a good, thorough round of shower fucking, about how nice it felt to have someone's hand settled under his shirt, resting warmly on his chest, or about how hard he got every time Kenny shifted against him.

Nope. Not going to think about it. He was watching _Top Hat_ now, and Kenny McCormick could go fuck himself. All he had to do was watch Fred go and win Ginger's heart, lose himself in the dancing, and everything would be fine. Everything would be just fine.

Butters woke a few hours later to Fred and Ginger tapping away in _Swing Time_ and a whole fuckton of knocking. He pushed himself off of the couch and walked back to the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he pulled the door open and gave a groggy 'hello'. Bebe was standing on the other side, Patrick on her hip and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi, I'm really sorry to drop in like this," she said hurriedly as Butters stepped aside to let her in. Patrick gave a happy gurgle and reached out for Butters as Bebe walked by him. "I called a bunch, but you must've really been out." She set the bag down by the couch and blew some of her frizzy hair out of her eyes. "My dad just called. My grandma had a stroke up in Loveland a few hours ago."

"Oh no," Butters held a hand over his own heart. "Is she okay?"

"She's stable, but they… they don't know if she'll have another or if she'll—"

"Well, for God's sake, Bebe, gimme the kid and get the heck outta here!" Butters held out his arms.

"Oh my God, you're a saint," Bebe breathed a sigh of relief and handed Patrick to him. "Thank you so much. And I already called Kenny, he knows he's with you, and I wrote out the emergency numbers for you, they're in the bag—"

"Go, Bebe!" Butters exclaimed. Bebe nodded and pushed a kiss to Patrick's forehead.

"I'll see you soon, sweetheart," she said, and then kissed Butters on the cheek. "You too, sweetheart. Thank you so much again." And just like that, Butters was alone—alone with his ex's baby, a happily squirming mass of giggles in his arm, and the sudden realization that he'd never had an infant CPR class before.

As was expected, he heard his cell phone buzzing steadily on the coffee table a mere few seconds later and could only imagine who it was.

"All right, Patrick," Butters said as he walked over and grabbed the phone. "Remember how I told you your dad might chill out?" He held up the phone so Patrick could see Kenny's name in big flashing letters across the front screen. "It's not lookin' good," he said and flipped the phone open.

"I'm dangling your son out the window by his ankles, what do you want?"

"That's not funny, asshole," Kenny snapped. "Is he okay?"

"Bebe left him with me literally two seconds ago, you freak," Butters shook his head and looked at Patrick with a look that could only say 'can you believe this guy?' Patrick giggled and grabbed at Butters' hair.

"She gave you all the emergency numbers, right?" Kenny asked.

"Of course she did, Kenny," Butters rolled his eyes. "Jiminy Crickets, you think everyone in the world is inept?"

"Everyone _is_ inept, Butters," Kenny replied quite frankly. "I'll bet you didn't even wash—"

"If you finish that sentence, I _will_ slug you next time I see you," Butters said, and Kenny seemed to pick up the annoyance in Butters' tone. There were a few moments during which both Kenny and Butters refused to say anything before Kenny started up again.

"I'm just saying—"

"No, I didn't sanitize every god-dang surface in my house before Bebe unexpectedly turned up on my doorstep, all right?" Butters said a little too loudly into the receiver. "I'll be careful not to accidentally swaddle him in my smallpox blankets."

"You're such a dick," Kenny sighed into the receiver. "Let me say hi to him."

Butters rolled his eyes at the burgeoning realization that no one in his life ever really wanted to talk to him, but instead the incoherent little creatures in his life. He held his phone up to Patrick and sighed.

"Say hi to your daddy," he said as he made happy, exaggerated faces at Patrick. "Let him know he's a neurotic psychopath."

"Hey!" he heard Kenny say as Patrick let out a high-pitched squeal. Butters grinned and put the phone back up to his ear.

"So you found out about my dark, secret double life as a baby-slayer or what?"

"Fuck you," Kenny groaned.

"Anytime, darlin'," Butters snorted.

Silence fell once more before Kenny cleared his throat and, undoubtedly, scratched at the back of his head.

"I, uh… I kind of don't get off work until midnight-ish," he said. "We're doing inventory and I can't get out of it."

"That's all right," Butters shrugged. "I'll be up."

"He better not be," Kenny gave a half-assed warning.

"Damn," Butters sighed. "I was gonna take him out boozin' and cruizin' tonight. I already had him all dressed up in his snazzy little suit."

"I fucking hate you, dude," Kenny muttered. "I just want him safe. That's not a fucking crime."

"I know," Butters nodded. "Doesn't mean you gotta be such a fuckin' melvin about it."

"… did you just—"

"I did," Butters smiled, bouncing Patrick jauntily and making faces at him as he did. "Stings, doesn't it?"

"All right, I'm going back to work."

"_Burn_," Butters whispered in his most eerie voice, and then boomed out a rather boisterous "Burn!" and cackled.

"Yeah, I'm the freak," Kenny said, and hung up promptly thereafter. Butters chuckled to himself, tucking the phone back in his pocket as he readjusted Patrick in his arms. He appeared to be occupied by his new surroundings, looking around and taking in everything he possibly could. Butters brushed at a few of his blond wisps with his fingertips before grabbing the remote and sitting on the couch.

"I don't know what to tell you, little guy," he sighed and tried to find some appropriate programming. "He's a nut, but you'll learn to love him. An' if worse comes to worse, your mom an' I got your back."

Patrick gave him a look, if babies could indeed give _looks_, and Butters decided to leave it at that. He flipped through about a hundred channels before he looked back to Patrick, who was still looking around like the Stotch household was the most fascinating he'd ever been in, and switched off the TV.

"Let's see what kinds of movies I have, huh?"

He grabbed the bag Bebe had brought with her and slung it over his shoulder, slapped his laptop shut and tucked it under his arm, and then took the stairs two by two until he and Patrick were safe in the confines of his room. He set Patrick down on his impeccably made bed, all stretched out on his stomach and looking on curiously as Butters set down the bag and laptop and started scanning his (alphabetized) collection of DVDs on his bookshelf.

"The Birdcage probably ain't your style quite yet," he said absently. "I bet your dad ain't started you on the magic that is the partnership of Disney and Pixar, has he?"

Patrick stared back at him blankly, but Butters, not one to be discouraged by someone finding him boring or tedious, held up a DVD case and continued.

"This is a little movie called _Monsters Inc._," he said. "I'd start you on _Toy Story_, but your daddy hates that movie 'cause he blew up one too many toys when he... know what? Never mind. Story for another time. Hopefully this'll at least keep you from bein' scared of monsters. Sound good?"

Patrick didn't respond any more than Butters expected him to, so he just set up his computer and popped the DVD inside. He seemed to be placated enough by the bright colors flashing across the screen, so Butters opened up the bag and sifted through the contents. Diapers, changing pad, emergency contacts, a jar of questionably green paste-looking food, some bottles of formula, toys, a few blankets, extra clothes, a pacifier, a bag of Cheerios… good Lord, this woman thought of everything.

"You got any stuffed animals in here?" Butters found himself asking as he rummaged all the way to the bottom of the bag. Patrick gave a definitive 'da!'.

"Remind me to tell your daddy to get you started on Russian language learning early," Butters muttered to himself as he stood and went to search in his closet for something.

His mother was the type who saved everything of sentimental value. From the hair from his first haircut, to the first teeth he lost, to the very first ornament he'd ever made for her at Sunday school, anyone could go into the Stotch household and find those items if they searched properly. She also included his old toys and stuffed animals in those items she held so dear, and so packed them away long ago when Stephen Stotch declared Butters too old to play with such things. In a box tucked away in the back corner, that had remained sealed for years, underneath his graduation robes and old dance costumes, was his old blanket and a plush blue elephant he'd affectionately named 'Blue'. He walked over to the bed and crouched beside Patrick, who looked over at him and smiled.

"This here's Blue," he said, holding the elephant up for Patrick to see. "He doesn't much like snowstorms or the dark, but he'll put on a brave face for you and get you through 'em. If you promise to take care of him and be his new friend, would you like to take him home with you?"

Patrick's mouth hung agape, like Butters had just presented a master jewel thief with the largest diamond in the world. Butters smiled and tucked the elephant under one of Patrick's arms, and smiled when he let out a squeal and immediately mouthed at the elephant's ear.

"Maybe we tell your dad that I washed him before I gave him to you," Butters laughed and shifted Patrick closer to the wall, so he could get on the edge of the bed and watch the movie too.

He spent the next hour explaining the movie to Patrick frame by frame, covering his eyes at the scary parts and then remembering that he was an infant and it didn't much matter. About ten minutes before the end of the movie, Butters' phone started buzzing.

"You know you called me less than two hours ago, right?" he asked.

"Ha-ha," came Kenny's sardonic reply. "Did Bebe leave you his eating schedule?"

"Uh, no?" Butters looked over at Patrick, who was curiously gnawing at the elephant's trunk. "Okay, maybe he's ready to eat."

"You haven't fed him yet?" Kenny shouted into the phone. "Christ, it's seven o'clock!"

"Don't yell at me when I'm doin' you and your baby mamma a favor, jackass," Butters snapped back, only to feel insanely guilty when he realized just how mean it had sounded. "We've been watchin' a movie," he gave a more feeble excuse and slid off of the bed to grab a jar and spoon out of the bag.

"He should've eaten an hour ago," Kenny said very insistently.

"Relax, he's fine," Butters rolled his eyes. "Do I give him the green stuff or…"

"Jesus Christ," Kenny sighed. "Give him one of the bottles and then maybe a little of the peas if he looks up to it."

"How do I know if he looks up to it?" Butters asked.

"Ugh, never mind," Butters could hear Kenny's eyes rolling in their sockets, "Just give him the formula and be done with it."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Butters gave a little salute. "Anything else, or can I go back to not killing your child in peace?"

"Dude, seriously, I'm not in the mood," Kenny grumbled.

"Are you sure?" Butters asked. "'cause I'm not answering the phone if you call again."

"Butters, don't fucking do that!" Kenny exclaimed. "What if I have a fucking emergency?"

"Dial 911," Butters replied cheerfully. "Against all odds, I'm sure your son loves you very much in spite of your neurosis. See you tonight."

Butters hung up the phone amidst Kenny's ranting and raving on the other end of the phone and arranged his pillows so Patrick could sit up against them and eat. Butters let the movie come to a finish before he switched it out for Finding Nemo. It seemed that Patrick had a certain passion for brightly-colored things, a notion with which Butters could most definitely sympathize. He polished off the bottle, seemingly content if his yawn was anything to go by. Butters climbed back on the bed and pulled Patrick onto his lap, tucking the elephant back into his grip and adjusting his computer with his feet so they could both see.

Butters' phone buzzed, this time with a text.

_'dont frget to burp him'_

"What the—"

He was cut short by Patrick coughing a little and then, _aw Jesus_, spitting up all over the elephant.

Butters figured now was as good a time as any to do a load of laundry. He arranged Patrick a little fort of pillows that he could fall asleep on, grabbed his hamper (atop which sat the sullied elephant), and went downstairs to the laundry room. Expectedly, Patrick started crying when he realized he was alone, so Butters made quick work of dumping everything into the machine and ran back upstairs. He spent the next half hour stroking Patrick's back and talking to him about the movie, and when it seemed as though Patrick was asleep he snuck downstairs to switch out the laundry. When he returned upstairs, Patrick was whimpering softly.

"You can't be alone, can you?" Butters asked and climbed back on the bed. "Your daddy's gone and ruined you for bein' by yourself, huh?"

He propped himself up on his pillows again and pulled Patrick onto his chest, determined to get this kid the fuck to sleep if it was the last thing he did. He steadied his breathing, calmed himself down, and maybe even smiled when Patrick stuck his thumb in his mouth and started dozing off again. Butters started feeling a little bleary-eyed himself, and let himself contentedly drift off until he heard the dryer buzz downstairs. He sighed and moved Patrick back to the bed, and after a few moments during which Butters determined he was indeed asleep, he snuck downstairs and brought the laundry back upstairs. Blessedly, Patrick was still asleep, and so Butters popped in his copy of _Singin' in the Rain_ and started folding his clothes.

He put his clothes away, started tidying up his already pretty clean room, and still it was nowhere close to midnight. He sighed and, determining that Patrick was far enough into sleep, decided he was free to go downstairs and do some chores he'd neglected to do throughout the day.

He'd never considered himself a neat-freak, because people like his mom were much more obsessive about neatness than he, but the only way his parents would ever let him put off his homework or equally unpleasant tasks was if he cleaned—it kept the house neat and kept Butters from ruining his mind with TV and videogames, so his parents had advocated it wholeheartedly. He did a little dusting, took the trash out, scoured the sink…

Okay, and so maybe normal people not-so obsessed with neatness didn't often find themselves on their hands and knees, scrubbing the nonexistent dirt out of the tile like there was no tomorrow.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Butters screamed and whipped around much too fast, balance thrown off entirely as he fell directly back the cold, hard tile floor. Kenny stood in the doorway to the living room, hands in his pockets and head cocked in a way that suggested he was much more annoyed than he had any right to be.

"Cheese and crackers, how the fuck did you get in here, y'jackass?" Butters said probably a little too loudly as he stood back up.

"Your front door was open," Kenny said, facial expression virtually unreadable. "Is my child in the house still, or do I have to call in an amber alert?"

"Aw, shit," Butters muttered and looked over Kenny's shoulder at the now definitely closed front door. "He's sleeping on my bed upstairs."

Kenny turned and stalked up the stairs without another word. Butters groaned and ran to catch up with him, stopping just short of running into him when they got into his room. Kenny was watching Patrick, making sure from a far that his chest was rising and falling still, before he turned to Butters and exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all day.

"Believe it or not, it ain't that hard to keep a baby alive," Butters shrugged.

"How the fuck do you get him to sleep?" Kenny just asked. "If you say that took you any less than two hours I'm gonna be pissed." Butters opened his mouth, about to answer, when Patrick stirred and both Kenny and Butters stilled. When it appeared that Patrick wouldn't be waking any further, Butters and Kenny both tiptoed out of the room and back downstairs where, in the light, Butters could see just how worn down Kenny actually looked. He'd taken out his eyebrow and labret rings, probably too exhausted to clean them properly and keep them from getting too gross; the skin under his eyes was dark and puffy, his eyes red and dun with lack of sleep.

"You, uh," Butters looked down at his feet. "You want some tea? I-I can make you some without caffeine in it or nothin' if you wanna get to sleep soon."

"Only if it's that apple kind you always drink," Kenny replied absently as he rubbed at his eyes. Butters felt a funny little twinge in his stomach—senior year had been so daunting, and between college applications and AP classes and scholarship hunts Butters hadn't really been in the business of getting much sleep. So, since he wasn't much of a coffee drinker, he'd come to school every morning with a giant travel mug full of apple cinnamon tea. He would sit out behind the gym with Kenny while he smoked his morning cigarettes, sipping from his mug and working on homework he'd fallen asleep doing the night before, and pretending not to notice just how much tea Kenny siphoned from his supply.

He remembered. _Ugh, why did he remember_?

Butters just looked over at him and held up the little box of that said same tea (the decaffeinated, of course), and had to fight that giddy feeling in his core that threatened to surface when Kenny gave him a tired smile. He cleared his throat and filled his mom's bright green kettle.

"You have to work late like this often?" he asked. Kenny groaned and sat down at the dining table, pillowing his head on his forearms as he let himself relax a little bit.

"Not usually," he said softly, exhaustion more apparent than before. "My boss has just been kind of been a total hard-on lately—"

"Nice," Butters gave a little laugh.

"Thought you'd like that," Kenny grinned lazily and yawned. "Nah, he's just been kind of _insistent_ that I take more hours the last few months. I guess his wife's been going through some stuff… like, cancer stuff? Aside from me and Red, I think he's got, like, one other guy working there. Apparently, I'm reliable."

"Well, that's good job security, I suppose," Butters said and took a seat beside Kenny.

"Yeah, I guess," Kenny nodded and yawned again. Butters pursed his lips and put a comforting hand on Kenny's shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're workin' for your kid, not to support a drug habit or nothin'. What you're doin' is pretty admirable, if you ask me. You're trying to give him a good life, a-an' you're doin' _famously_ if that house I saw is any indication, so… I think he'll thank you for it one day."

Kenny smiled softly and then, just when it looked like he might be going in for a hug, Kenny's phone rang and he deflated. Just as well, Butters figured, since the tea kettle started whistling and he could clearly make out the name 'Bebe' on Kenny's caller ID. He went about making tea as Kenny went about heaving sighs and sending his love and telling her everything was okay and not to worry about it. With tea in hand, Butters sat back down at the table and slid a piping hot mug in front of Kenny.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"She's at her grandparents' house," Kenny yawned. "Her parents were fucking pissed that she didn't bring Patrick with her. Said that seeing her great-grandson would've helped her recover or some shit."

"That's only slightly insane," Butters frowned.

"Whatever," Kenny groaned. "They're just fucking hate me and they're taking it out on her."

"What're you talkin' about?" Butters asked.

"Oh, fuck dude," Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't get me started on it, I'll just get pissed off."

"Karen said something about it," Butters shrugged. "Y'know, i-if you need to talk, I'll listen. I mean, you can't talk to Bebe about it, and you probably don't want to upset Karen."

"Yeah, but I don't want to upset you either," Kenny groaned and sipped at his tea.

"Aw, come on," Butters shrugged, giving a genial smile. "I'm a good punching bag."

"Dude, don't fucking say that," Kenny gave Butters a pleading, sympathetic look that made his chest hurt. "I'm not going to lay all my problems on you, okay? That's not fair."

"But I like hearing about 'em," Butters nodded a little too insistently. "Kenny, I _like_ helpin' people with their problems. I _like_ listening."

Kenny bit his lip and let out a gust of breath through his nose. Butters held back a smile, because that was how he always looked when he was waging war on himself, and he knew once he got into Kenny's head like that he'd won. Sure enough, a few more moments found Kenny rolling his bloodshot weary eyes and smacking his head on the table.

"Jesus!" Butters exclaimed, picking his mug up off of the surface to avoid sloshing. "You're gonna give yourself a concussion if you're not careful, mister."

"They want to take him away from me," Kenny said very plainly and looked up. "She tell you that?"

"W-well, not in so many words," Butters fiddled with the string on his tea bag, determined to look anywhere other than Kenny's face.

"They've been trying to catch me being negligent ever since I first picked the kid up," Kenny said, his voice thin and tight with some foreign note Butters had never heard color his voice. "They don't think I should be raising a kid and I just—this kid's my fucking world now, you know? I can't… I can't lose him, Butters."

Butters, having the good sense to know that Kenny wouldn't want anyone to know he was capable of shedding tears, scooted forward and pulled him into a hug. Kenny took to it like a fish to water, wrapping his arms around Butters in a vise-like grip and burying his wet face in the crook of Butters' neck. Fuck, it felt good, having Kenny this close to him again. He stroked a hand over his hair (because what else does one do with one's hands when comforting someone?) and resisted the urge to kiss him all over.

"You won't lose him," he found himself saying. "I won't let that happen, okay?"

"You can't promise that," Kenny said, as though stating the color of the sky.

"Yeah, I can," Butters said softly. "I promise that won't happen."

"If they want negligent parenting," Kenny sniffed and sat back up, his nose all red and face all blotchy, "if they want negligence, where the fuck is CPS at my goddamn brother's house, huh? Drinks himself blind after work every day and comes home to beat on his girlfriend and yell at his kids. Where are the people looking to get those kids put in a better home?"

Butters found himself unable to respond, so he resolved himself to a sigh and a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Goddamn, all he wanted to do was lean forward and push his lips to Kenny's. Kisses may not have actually solved any problems, but they definitely made you feel like there was a light out there when the world seemed to be at its darkest. He kind of missed being able to give Kenny that, but he swallowed his desires and just let Kenny calm down. When it became apparent that Kenny wasn't going to say anything further, Butters slapped his knees and stood.

"Come on," he said, and Kenny frowned. Butters just rolled his eyes and hauled Kenny to his feet. "You're tired as all hell, I'll bet. Come on, let's get you upstairs."

Kenny moaned and groaned as Butters pushed him up the stairs, maybe even whined a little when he tripped over his feet and stumbled, but Butters managed to get him into the room nonetheless. Patrick was still sleeping soundly, and Butters' computer, now more than likely overheating, had long since been done with Singin' in the Rain. He closed his laptop and slid it under the bed as Kenny stretched out on the bed.

"Don't you worry 'bout a thing, all right?" Butters smiled. "Everything's gonna be just fine. You trust me?"

Kenny nodded and turned onto his side, now face to face with his sleeping lump of a child. Butters had to admit, Kenny looked damn good with a baby, like Patrick was a high class accessory or something.

"I'll be on the couch if you need me," he said softly, about to switch off the light, when he was stopped by a very distinct "No you won't."

Kenny turned his head and caught Butters' eye.

"I already put you out all day, I'm not putting you out all night," he said. "Get your ass over here and make sure my kid doesn't roll over and fall between the bed and the wall."

Butters knew it was a bad idea the moment the words hit his ears, that he should just say 'oh it's no trouble at all' and haul ass to the couch where he could toss and turn and watch QVC until he fell asleep in pace, but he'd never been good at denying anyone anything, let alone Kenny McCormick. With a gulp, he switched off the lights and padded over to his bed, careful to make as few movements as possible as he slid up to rest his head on a pillow. He looked at Patrick, sleeping more than contentedly, and smiled.

"What the hell is he holding?" Kenny murmured, voice all low and thick with the beginnings of sleep.

"A blue elephant," Butters replied very simply. Kenny just nodded and sighed out a very tired 'Of course he is' before falling silent for a few minutes.

"Hey Butters," Kenny whispered this time, like they were little kids at their first sleepover, all giggly and waiting for their parents to bust in and tell them to get to sleep.

"Yeah, Ken?"

"Your bed still smells the same," he yawned. "Smells good."


	5. Chapter 4

Hey guys, long chapter is long beyond all reason. Happy holidays, I guess? Hope you're all well and are having fantastic holidays.

* * *

><p>It wasn't exactly a secret to anyone in South Park, and hadn't been for quite some time: Kenny McCormick sucked cock. He'd done some nasty things for money as a kid and the rumors kind of just stuck with him. What no one seemed to piece together was the fact that Kenny fucking loved it. He loved getting down on his knees and grabbing a guy by the hips, loved the weight and feel of someone's dick in his mouth and on his tongue. It was an offer not easily passed up by the normal, red-blooded queer-and-questioning young men of Park County, but Kenny supposed that there was always one.<p>

"Can I suck you off?"

Butters looked at him like he was asking him to commit a major felony, eyebrows sweeping into his hairline as he gave an uncertain laugh. Kenny didn't have time to convey just how serious he was before Butters attacked him with renewed vigor, sending them both backward into the shelves. Never one to give up when it came to sexual activity, Kenny thrust his hands into the back pockets of Butters' jeans and ground their hips together. He was getting hard—of course he was, they both were—and Kenny couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. He rolled his hips, delighted as all hell when Butters pulled back and screwed his eyes shut.

"Please," Kenny whispered against the shell of his ear. "I want your cock in my mouth."

"Kenny," Butters whimpered as Kenny kissed along his jaw and down his neck. Kenny grinned and moved his hands up to Butters' shoulders, pushing him back against the door of the closet and giving the inside of his mouth a little teasing lick for good measure. Then he clicked the ball of his tongue ring against Butters' teeth and suddenly Butters' hands were on him, unbuttoning his jeans and slipping inside, working steadily and _holy shit_ Butters was giving him a hand job in the janitor's closet.

Kenny couldn't quite help himself then, because even though he'd been doing this for years there was something about boys that drove him wild. There was something about the whole thing that reduced him to a panting, simpering pile of useless human being.

"Please," he whined this time, "I wanna suck you off, _please_."

Butters' hand stilled then, and Kenny only opened his eyes long enough to see him looking back at him with a mixture of lust and confusion on his face. Okay, so Kenny liked sucking cock a _lot_ more than he let on, but whatever. No one was perfect.

Butters didn't seem to mind much anymore. He unbuttoned his pants and Kenny sank to his knees, just as the bell rang to signal the end of passing period.

"Shit," Kenny muttered, about to stick his hand into his underwear and finish himself off when Butters tangled a hand in his hair and tugged. "Don't you have class?"

"'s just math," Butters panted, running his fingernails along Kenny's scalp now. "Please, Kenny? I wanna come so bad."

That was all the encouragement Kenny needed. He pulled Butters, hard and leaking, out of his underwear and gave him one final look before licking a long stripe up the underside of him.

"Aw, fuck," Butters breathed, tangling his fingers in Kenny's hair and giving a generous tug as Kenny ran the ball of his tongue ring over the slit of his cock. Then he whimpered—_whimpered_—when Kenny pinned his hips to the door and sucked him in between his lips. He loved this part, when a few bobs of his head and flicks of his tongue could pull someone like Butters Stotch apart at the seams. The broken sighs, the strangled moans, the little expletives… all of it went straight to Kenny's cock, made him harder than he'd ever remembered being in his life. In this moment, in this closet, he got to see a side of Butters he kept hidden from the rest of the world, and the mere thought of that drove Kenny to grab his own dick and start tugging.

"Kenny?"

_Shit._

Kenny opened his eyes, soaking wet and dick in hand, and cast a fearful glance toward the door of the bathroom. This was what his days off had been reduced to: hurried jerk-offs in the shower while his son was still asleep. Only this time had sort of been an accident. He'd just been showering, minding his own business, when all of a sudden Butters just crept right up in his thoughts and made him want to touch himself.

"Kenny?" once again came Bebe's worried tone and careful, persistent knocking. Kenny swallowed the lump in his throat and let out a strangled 'hang on a second' before he screwed his eyes shut, leaned against the wall, and resumed his frantic strokes.

There was a day when he would have let himself enjoy a nice, long session of self-love (complete with nipple-tweaking and fingering), but having a kid had kind of taken a toll on the whole sex thing. Not because of the actual kid, but because of the fucking _time_ it took up, working and spending time with him and actually getting an hour or two of fucking sleep in every once in a while…

Fuck, he was starting to go down. He had to do this right now or he'd be in a foul fucking mood for the rest of the day. He took a breath and pushed his sodden hair out of his face, trying to focus on something that would rev him back up and get the job done fast.

He was back in the janitor's closet, Butters' cock down his throat and his hand in his pants, tugging and sucking working in their own rhythms and sending every part of Kenny's body into overdrive. Butters had started thrusting against the steady bobs of Kenny's head, and Kenny would occasionally reward the enthusiasm with a purposeful flick of his tongue ring. The only thing mind-alteringly hotter than the fact that Butters was letting him suck him off when he should've been in class was that Butters was holding his head in place and letting out a steady stream of '_fuck-fuck-fuck_'s, because Butters hardly said anything rougher than 'Aw jeez' and would never go so far as to handle anyone this roughly.

"Kenny," Butters moaned, high in the back of his throat, "I'm—_shit_, I'm real close."

Kenny let go of his dick to hold Butters' hips down again and sucked harder, bobbing his head with renewed vigor as Butters let go of his hair and cried out. He struggled to hold Butters down as he tried to buck up, but failed fantastically when he came right into his mouth. Kenny didn't care at that point, just wrapped his arms around Butters and sucked him dry…

Kenny came hard onto the tile wall of the shower, stuffing his wrist into his mouth and choking back the ridiculously loud groan that threatened to tear out of his throat if he wasn't careful. He didn't know why—it wasn't like jerking off back at home, where he had to keep quiet because of those paper-thin walls and the utter mortification that someone might hear him in an actual state of pleasure for once. It was just Bebe and Patrick in the house now, and while Patrick wasn't old enough to really give a shit about _what_ his dear old dad was doing, Bebe flat out wouldn't have cared. Hell, in the month she'd been around Kenny had heard her moaning and shouting at the mercy of her own fingers at _least_ once or twice.

They chose not to fuck each other anymore merely on principle. The last thing they needed was to start feeling like Kenny's next door neighbors, the fucking Johansson's, with their two perfect kids and their golden retriever and their regular church-going.

Like Harriet and Walter fucked anymore anyway.

"Kenny!" Bebe knocked more abrasively this time. "I'm going to miss my plane if we don't leave soon, asshole!"

Kenny rinsed the incriminating evidence from the scene and shut off the water, because Bebe would actually beat his ass into oblivion if she missed her plane. She'd had an interview lined up with a pharmaceutical company for months now, one of the only paying internships she could find that would hire a medical student to do a little extra busy work around the office.

He dressed himself in some clothing suitable for the outside world, feeling a little uneasy about the day ahead, and went downstairs to grab some breakfast. Goddamn, all he really wanted to do was throw on a pair of sweatpants and watch TV all day long with his kid and somehow he'd been swindled into doing the exact opposite. Instead of kicking back and relaxing, he was going to have to drive to the fucking airport, drop Bebe off, pick _Kyle _up (because, yeah, _of course_ he'd fucking agreed to that), and then he had to go get Karen a box of cupcakes from that place she loved (okay, so that wasn't really a do-or-die _have_ to situation, but he loved making her smile, so), and then he had to drive all the way back to South Park, drop Kyle off, and undoubtedly get sucked into a three-hours long visit with the Broflovskis. By the time he got home the day would be over.

"All right, mom," came Bebe's voice from inside the kitchen. She was sitting beside Patrick's high chair, phone sandwiched between her ear and shoulder, as she tried to feed Patrick a little solid food. By the looks of it, he was none too happy about this. "All right, I will. I'll call you as soon as I land."

Kenny rolled his eyes and poured himself a bowl of Cheerios. Not exactly the Cap'n Crunch he wished he was eating, but Bebe and Karen had both insisted that he chuck that crap the second he decided to be a dad. No use keeling over and dying from a heart attack at forty, they'd said. Kenny had almost given a sardonic reply, illustrating just how ridiculous that notion was, but decided against it. Let them think they were helping, that was always the best course of action.

"All right, tell grandma I love her… _All right_, I love you," Bebe said, annoyed. "Okay, 'bye."

"How's your grandma?" Kenny asked through a mouthful of cereal.

"She's doing okay," Bebe gave a little smile. "They say she's stable and everything, so… She'd want me to go back, right?"

"I don't know your grandma, Bebe," Kenny replied very frankly and looked over at Patrick, who was turning very insistently away from the mashed peas Bebe was offering. "I'm cool if you want to stay back. Shit, I need all the help I can get."

"I know," Bebe sighed and gave up when Patrick actually looked at her and gave her a very adamant 'ba!', which Kenny could only assume was baby-speak for 'fuck the fuck off', but he couldn't be sure. Bebe set the spoon on Patrick's high chair and looked over at Kenny with a suggestive smile.

"Nice shower?" she asked and bounced her eyebrows. Kenny groaned and buried his face in his hands, which only made Bebe laugh as she stood to put her dish in the sink. "Come on, like we didn't know this was going to happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kenny said, still hiding his face.

"Your, for lack of a better word, ex-boyfriend is flouncing around and you expect yourself to be able to resist wanting to fuck his brains out?"

"Bebe, come on, I'm not in the mood," Kenny begged as he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"You should have _seen_ your jaw drop when you saw him—"

"Okay, Bebe, you're hilarious," Kenny said.

"The best, though?" Bebe continued with that superior, shit-eating grin on her face. "The best is that way you stare at his ass like you're in _heat_ or something."

"Seriously, Bebe—"

"Was he really that good of a fuck? I've never seen you stare at _anyone_ like that bef—"

"Silence, wench!" Kenny exclaimed, only to be met by a bout of uncalled for laughter. He looked up at her, silently pleading for her sympathy, and deflated when she gave him a look. He knew that look—that was her 'I'm not taking any of your shit' look. He breathed out through his mouth, turning it into a raspberry noise only because he knew it would make Patrick laugh, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Kenny—Goddamn it, we don't have time for this," she sighed wearily as Kenny buried his face in her chest. She did have a fucking fabulous rack, and even if they weren't fucking, what was a little cleavage-burrowing between friends?

"Kenny, come on," she said and shook his shoulder. "You can't hide in my tits every time you get upset."

"Can too," Kenny countered, but finally backed off when she grabbed his nipple and twisted.

"It's not a crime to jerk off to your ex, you know," Bebe said and leaned down to put a hand on his cheek. She then gave him a sympathetic smile and continued with a self-satisfied, "And it's certainly not a crime to be hung up on someone you used to care that much about." Kenny turned to look at Patrick and sighed. Even Patrick liked Butters, and Patrick hated just about everybody except Karen and his mom. He'd sobbed uncontrollably every time he saw Kevin (which, in the last six months totaled up to twice) and had actually peed on Stuart the one and only time Kenny had let him hold him. Then again, he'd also wailed when Kyle had held him, mostly because Kyle couldn't interact properly with small things that showed no signs of logical reasoning, and the same with Ike and with Stan (only Stan had actually looked offended at the thought that Patrick didn't like him, while Kyle and Ike could have cared less). Only been in the world for half a year and already the kid was a better judge of character than most.

Then Kenny noticed that, squashed in the high chair, right beside Patrick, was that goddamned blue elephant. He looked over at Bebe and frowned.

"You let him eat with that thing?" he asked, disregarding the fact that Karen had toted her doll around everywhere until she was nine or ten. Bebe looked back to where he was pointing and smiled.

"Of course," she said. "He loves it. And he threw a shit fit when I tried to take it away from him."

"Great," Kenny sighed and went to go lift his son from his high chair. Before he got two inches off of the seat, he made a strangled cry and a mad reach for the elephant, which Kenny reluctantly grabbed and handed to him. Yeah, it was just a stuffed animal, but it was _Butters'_ old stuffed animal and it… Jesus H. Christ, it smelled like that stupid combination of laundry detergent and fabric softener the Stotches had been using since forever.

Goddamn it, it smelled like some weird Butters phantom was following him everywhere.

That was not cool.

Bebe came tromping down the stairs in one of Karen's old shirts, one from Disneyland that Butters had sent her however many years ago. However irrational and stupid it was, the sight of the shirt had initially infuriated him and so Karen had stopped wearing it out of what Kenny had foolishly assumed to be courtesy. Now he knew it was just so she could hide it in his house.

"All right, boys," Bebe said and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. "The car's all loaded up, my boys are all fed… Are we ready to take mama to the airport?"

Kenny grinned and gave a little 'yay!' as he bounced Patrick again, earning another delighted laugh as he held the elephant close to him. As Bebe patted her pockets and made a last look over the living room for anything she might have forgotten, Kenny moved to the front door and sighed with exaggerated impatience.

"Dude, you've been packing for two days," he said as he turned the doorknob, "I don't think you could've forgotten anything even if you tried."

He swung open the door and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw one Butters Stotch on his stoop, poised and ready to knock. He looked a little like a puppy who'd just been caught piddling on the brand new carpet, which only made Kenny feel like an asshole for even entertaining the idea of being upset.

But why would any just God see fit to torture him like this on his day off?

"Hey, Butters," he began carefully. "What's up?"

"Oh, well," Butters jumped, like he wasn't sure Kenny had even been talking to him. "Be-Bebe told me she was leavin' today, so I thought I'd come say goodbye."

"Oh, how sweet of you," Bebe appeared beside Kenny and gave him a pointed look over the tops of her glasses.

That scheming bitch.

"Hon, why don't you ride with us, so Kenny doesn't have to ride back alone?"

"I don't have to ride back alone," Kenny said very pointedly. "I'm picking up Kyle, remember?"

"Oh," Bebe shrugged. "Guess you'll just have a little more company than you thought."

Kenny rolled his eyes and looked at Butters, shaking his head in a 'can you believe this shit' way that made Butters smile that adorable little half smile. Okay, Kenny had kind of missed Butters' smiles. Butters' smiles weren't like other people's smiles—Butters smiled like he was nothing but sunshine held together by bits of hair and clothes and skin. God, Kenny hated that he'd missed him so much.

"What's up, bitches?"

Kenny's gaze broke away from Butters and focused on the figure coming up the walkway. Goddamn it, it was going to be _this_ kind of day, wasn't it?

Ike Broflovski, boy genius and high school graduate at the age of fifteen, had opted out of college and had stayed behind in South Park to work on writing his harrowing epic novel. Sheila hadn't been too happy about it, but Gerald had diffused the situation and reminded her that the happiness of their boys was crucial above all else. Two years later and still no finished product, Ike worked part time at the grocery store to allay his mother's fears of her baby boy turning into some basement-dweller, but for the most part he just smoked a lot of weed and hid in the freezer at work while he sketched out chapter outlines.

"Oh, come the fuck on," Kenny groaned as Ike perched his sunglasses atop his head and folded his arms. "What the fuck are you doing here, Degrassi?" Kenny groaned as Ike perched his sunglasses atop his head and folded his arms.

"You're fetching my brother, aren't you?" he asked. "I'm coming along. Hey, Butters."

"Oh, h-hey there, Ike," Butters gave a nervous little wave and started playing with his fingers. Ike clapped him on the shoulder and gave Kenny a pointedly raised eyebrow. Kenny just shook his head and made his way out to the car. He would reiterate: all he wanted to do was put on some sweatpants and watch TV with Patrick. For the love of fuck, he was missing a Twilight Zone marathon to cart a fucking circus to Denver and back. He fastened Patrick into his car seat as Bebe slid into the front and Ike ran to get into the car before Butters.

"I call baby-shotgun," he said, Butters looked over the top of the car at Kenny with a sort of worried look on his face. Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Ike, let Butters sit next to Patrick," he said, already tired of dealing with this shit. He hadn't even started _driving_ yet.

"What the hell?" Ike pouted and put his sunglasses back on the end of his nose. "That little fucker loves me."

"Just let Butters take the middle and shut the fuck up," Kenny gave him a pleading look. Ike nodded, like he sympathized with Kenny's situation, like he was going to just let Butters sit next to Patrick and that would be that, but that would've been _helpful_.

"I get it," Ike held his hands up in the air. "I've never had your dick up my ass, so I don't get special treatment. That's cool."

Kenny buried his face in his hands and leaned against the roof of the car.

"We don't have time for this," he said. "Either get in the car and shut up, or _get in the car and shut up_."

Ike looked like he was about to retort when Kenny gave him a final pleading look and he resigned himself to comply with Kenny's wishes. For a brief moment, Kenny was overcome by a mere glimmer ofhope that this wouldn't have been as hellish as he was leading himself to believe. After all, he still got to spend the day with his kid… there were just a few tag-a-longs. Truth be told, he would probably spend the rest of the day trying to convince himself that he was okay with that.

The ride out of South Park passed by without too much commotion. Every once in a while Kenny could hear the distinct noise of Patrick giggling, and if he looked in his rear view mirror he would be able to see Butters making faces and Ike silently rolling his eyes beside him and looking out the window like the broody, pissy teenager he was. Kenny often claimed that he was never that way himself, although other occupants of the car could certainly testify against such a claim.

"So, Butters," Ike began. "Finished school there, did ya?"

"Yup," Butters nodded. There was a time when this situation would have made him feel uncomfortable, but now it sounded as though Butters might actually be… _okay_ around people.

"What'd you study?" Ike asked, like it was a question Butters should have already answered. Kenny felt the old familiar temper flare up in his chest. He hated when people patronized Butters, like he was just some gullible sack of shit they could just walk all over for their amusement.

"I double-majored," Butters answered through a shrug. "Business and psychology."

"Wow," Bebe whistled. "You did that in four years? Good for you, dude."

"You didn't do dance or anything?" Kenny found himself asking as he caught Butters' eye in the rear view. There was a flash of something behind his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"Well, my folks weren't too happy when I told 'em that's what I wanted to study," he gave a nervous laugh. "They made me change it. A-an' I s'pose it's for the better an' all… I mean, what can you do with a degree in performance art?"

"Cool story, bro," Ike gave an exaggerated nod. "Who's playing you in the movie?"

Kenny did reach back and give him a swift punch to the kneecap for that.

"Stop being a twat," he said very pointedly. Ike threw up his hands once again.

"So because I've never let you fuck me—"

"Oh, would you get a life, Ike?" Bebe groaned and turned around. "Or, better yet, with all this 'fucking' talk, maybe you should get a girlfriend."

"I have a girlfriend!"

"A real girlfriend," Kenny and Bebe both responded at once.

"Fuck you guys, she is real!" Ike reached up and punched Kenny on the shoulder. Kenny caught Butters' eye in the rear view again, this time met with a look of mild confusion. He grinned back at him and tried to ignore the look Bebe was giving him out of his peripheral vision.

"So Butters," he began, "This asshole back here has been talking about this girlfriend he's had for the last, like, three years. No one's ever seen her, no one knows what she looks like, she may as well say she lives in Canada."

"She _is_ real," Ike reiterated very pointedly and scooted forward so he was closer to Kenny and Bebe. "And I know this is a new concept to everyone in this car but just because you stick your dick in someone doesn't mean it has to be broadcasted publically. Know what I did last night?"

"I don't think I want to," Bebe rubbed at her temples.

"I got a blowjob in the back of a crowded theater," Ike replied proudly and then turned to Butters. "What'd you do last night?"

Butters looked at Kenny in the mirror again, unsure of whether or not his answer would lead him into some sort of trap. Kenny raised an eyebrow and gave a tired shake of his head—Ike couldn't be that deceptive and masterful even if he tried.

"I watched TV," Butters gave a timid reply.

"By yourself?" Ike gave a laugh.

"Well, Karen was supposed to come over an' watch _Devil Wears Prada_ with me, but she told me she wasn't feelin' too well, so she was just gonna go home."

"What?" Kenny snapped, jolting everyone's attention to him. His baby sister hadn't been feeling well, and this was the first he was hearing about it? What the fuck was that?

"Aw, relax," Butters rolled his eyes, "she just had a stomach ache. Ain't like she's contracted swine flu or nothin'."

"That's what everyone who's ever had swine flu ever thinks, Butters," Kenny insisted.

"I swear to God, no one's got swine flu," Butters sighed. "Watch more Dateline, why don't you."

"I mean, I get it about the hand washing thing, but swine flu's an actual thing, dickhole."

"I know," Butters nodded. "And it'd be an issue if, I don't know, Karen actually _had_ it."

"Oh, my God!" Bebe shouted. "If you're going to start bickering like a couple of old queens, the least you could do is fuck like them too."

Silence fell not a moment after. Not even half an hour out of South Park and already this was the most awkward situation he'd ever been in. And that included the time Butters' parents had come home early from a day trip to Denver, when he'd had Butters bent over the side of the couch, when he'd been pounding into him without mercy and the car had rolled up and Butters had pushed him, naked and so… _so_ not finished, into the coat closet by the door. Luckily, Butters was adept at both speed dressing and keeping his dad away from funny sounds in the walls.

Okay, so maybe this was the second most awkward situation he'd ever been in. Mostly because he was starting to get hard in a car full of people whose business absolutely did not include Kenny's dick ever.

They got to the airport without too much more issue. There had been some vague protests when Kenny had put on a CD of kids music. He'd sampled a lot over the last few months, and in an effort to remain at least a little sane he'd settled on They Might Be Giants, finding them to be more tolerable than any of the others.

Kenny pulled into the garage at Denver International Airport much, much, _much _too long a drive later and watched as Bebe practically flew out of the car and grabbed her bags. Her flight was scheduled to leave in half an hour and she was, apparently, not going to take any chances. She opened the door and got Patrick out of his seat, kissing and cooing over him for a few minutes while everyone else got out of the car.

"I love you so much, sweetie," she hummed and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll be back in a few months, all right?" She then passed him off to Butters and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Keep an eye on my boys, okay?" she grinned. Butters smiled and gave her a one-armed hug in response.

"Yes, ma'am," he beamed. She moved on to hug Ike and gave him a little jab in the side when he lingered too long, and then came to Kenny. She gave him a little smile and placed both hands on his cheeks.

"You're an incredible dad, honey," she said softly. "Of anyone who could've impregnated me and raised a baby, I'm glad it was you."

"Shut up," Kenny laughed softly, only it was kind of hard to laugh when you felt like crying. He'd been feeling like that a lot lately, and even more so over the last few days. Too much to do, too much to feel, too much to… just, _too much_. Bebe ran her thumbs over his cheeks and gave him a little peck on the lips.

"You're going to be fine," she said through a little smile. "You're not alone, okay? Especially now that you've a certain lascivious young man back in your life."

"Get the fuck out," Kenny rolled his eyes, a smile floating up onto his face. "Go catch your plane before I'm stuck with you another night."

Bebe flipped him off and gave everyone a final wave before she ran off to catch her plane. Kenny sighed and leaned against the car, thinking that, if circumstances had been different, he maybe would have been perfectly content to raise a family with Bebe. He would've loved to give Patrick a brother or sister, to give him two loving parents in one house, to give him some sense of what it was like to have a normal family. Isn't that what everyone wanted for their kids, to give them everything they'd never had?

Of course, if they'd done that, Kenny was pretty sure Bebe would have killed herself by now. She wasn't housewife or mommy material, she just wasn't that kind of person. Kenny probably would've been miserable too—Bebe snored like a fucking buzz saw.

"So," Ike clapped his hands together. "Are we going to go fetch the young esquire, or just stand here watching Bebe's ass?"

Kenny rolled his eyes and started walking a couple paces behind Ike, who was apparently much more excited than he would've liked to let on about his brother's return. Kenny fell into step with Butters, who was busy whispering something to Patrick as Patrick smiled and tugged on the drawstring of Butters' sweater. Kenny draped an arm around Butters' shoulders and just prayed to God he wouldn't say anything. He could feel Butters' muscles tense for a second—everything about them had been tense for the last few days, though. Kenny just figured that was what happened when you were around someone you fucked for so long.

Butters remained the person Kenny had fucked the most, for the longest period of time.

He also remained the only person Kenny knew who would let him whine and stomp around and act like a petulant child without telling him to snap the fuck out of it, so he just rested his head against Butters' and made a face at Patrick when he looked at the two of them together.

"You all right?" Butters asked softly, making sure he was smiling so Patrick didn't suspect anything out of the ordinary. Kenny made a low sound of disapproval in the back of his throat and gave a weary shake of his head.

"Anythin' I can do?" Butters asked again, this time with that genuine kindness shining behind those big blue eyes. Kenny gave him a halfhearted smile and opened his arms.

"You can let me have my kid," he said and took Patrick into his arms when Butters handed him over. He pushed a raspberry into Patrick's cheek and grinned when he laughed. That seemed to be the only thing that made him happy these days, making his little boy laugh. They walked to the waiting area in relative silence, Butters with his hands stuffed in his pockets and Kenny making funny little noises at Patrick every once in a while, and only deigned to speak when Ike yelled at them to hurry up.

"Where's Kyle comin' from, exactly?" Butters asked as soon as they came into a crowd of people in the waiting area.

"Northwestern," Kenny said, much too hushed for the content of the conversation they were having. "Fucker graduated a month ago but he hasn't wanted to come home, so he just decided to work an extra month. Can't say I blame him, I wouldn't want to go back to Sheila after being on my own for so fucking long. I love the woman, but she's insane."

"What kinda work was he doin'?" Butters asked, leaning in close to Kenny, voice low and hushed like they were sharing secrets again. Whispering together was something that lovers did, something that Kenny and Butters once did in the presence of others when they were poking fun of someone within earshot. It was probably this very behavior that led a woman in a snappy-looking pantsuit to stop by them and give them an encouraging smile.

"You boys are so brave," she said. "You make an absolutely gorgeous family."

Kenny looked over at Butters, who, as expected, was all flushed in the face and waiting to take a cue from Kenny. There wasn't really much they could say—normally Kenny wouldn't have been opposed to telling someone that they were mistaken, to just correct them and go about with his life, but…

"Thank you?" Kenny offered, like it was more of a question than an actual statement of gratitude. Butters gave her a nervous grin and brought a hand up to awkwardly pat at Kenny's shoulder. The woman beamed and nodded, seemingly satisfied by the good deed she's just done, and the moment her back was turned Kenny gave a rather rude hand gesture that made Butters grab him by the wrist and give him a reprimanding look.

"We're in public, jackwagon!" he scolded. "The heck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, come on," Kenny rolled his eyes. "We're _'brave'_? What, for daring to walk amongst heterosexuals with our child? Fuck her."

"Well, A.," Butters began, "Patrick ain't 'our' kid, he's yours—you coulda told that lady she was mistaken, but you didn't, so that's on you. A-an' B. you're tellin' me that people are incapable of bein' kind?"

"Not people," Kenny shook his head. "Just her. And every other self-serving asshole on the planet who thinks it's necessary to _accept_ people who are different by calling attention to it."

"Again," Butters folded his arms. "Not a chance in hell that she was just bein' nice?"

Kenny considered this for a moment before turning to Butters and answering with a definitive and defiant "Nope." Butters rolled his eyes, fighting a smile, and shoved lightly at Kenny with his shoulder. Kenny found himself grinning too as he nudged back. Things may have been weird with Butters right now, but one thing the guy had never failed to do was make Kenny smile. Patrick even let out a happy squeal and fell forward into Kenny's chest. It seemed that even Patrick was happier with Butters around.

Like father like son, Kenny supposed.

"Guys, I see him!" Ike exclaimed and pointed in some vague direction, like he hadn't just seen his big brother graduate weeks before. Kenny always sort of wondered what it would be like, actually wanting to _see_ your brother. The moment Kyle came into view he was pummeled by a whole heap of little brother, a sight that made Kenny roll his eyes and Butters cover his mouth in an attempt to keep his amusement at bay. The Broflovski boys, reunited at last.

"Kyle know about Ike's fake girlfriend?" Butters jested softly. Kenny snorted.

"Please, he was the first one to point out that she probably doesn't even exist," he said. Both he and Butters chuckled lightly to themselves before Kyle was right there in front of them, eyebrow raised and looking as judgmental as ever.

"How nice," Kyle said upon seeing Kenny's armful of Patrick. "You brought the sprog to welcome me home. Hey, Butters."

"Hi, Kyle," Butters gave a smile and a little wave. The significance of Kyle's pointedly raised eyebrow was not lost on Kenny, but for the time being he just chose to shake his head and pretend he didn't know what Kyle was thinking. The second he'd gotten back to South Park, he'd called Kyle and asked him to let him talk, no holds barred, and Kyle had foolishly agreed. The same thing had happened when he'd found out that Bebe was pregnant, and again when she'd had the baby—the latter of which turned into Kenny and Kyle holed up in the men's bathroom, Kenny sobbing on Kyle's shoulder and Kyle trying to comfort him through half-assed, awkward pats on the back. To this day, Kyle was still the only person who knew the extent to which Kenny was damaged, and was the only one who'd take time enough to help him repair himself piece by piece.

Well, Butters would've helped too, if he'd known how fucked up Kenny really was. He'd helped all those years ago when they'd been kids, but they… they weren't kids anymore. Kenny's problems weren't jack shit compared to what they were now. Taking on all of that baggage was a lot to ask of anyone, even Butters, who was about the happiest bellhop you could ever meet.

"All right," Kenny shook himself out of his thoughts and looked at Kyle. "You got everything?"

"Yup," Kyle nodded.

"Okay, we have to make a quick stop at The Shoppe for cupcakes before we head home," Kenny said.

"Dude, seriously?" Ike groaned. "An extra thirty-minute schlep for some cupcakes?"

"Yeah, dude, they're Karen's favorite," Kenny explained through a tired sigh.

"Whoa, really?" Ike asked.

"Yeah," Kenny nodded. "She's pulling a double shift today. I figured I'd get her some cupcakes while we're up here, you know?"

"That… sounds absolutely fair," Ike nodded and grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

"Asking your imaginary girlfriend if she wants anything?" Kyle asked, which only earned him a solid punch on the shoulder and a few looks from surrounding humans.

"You guys are dicks," Ike muttered and quickly went about texting and walking back to the car. Butters and Kyle struck up a conversation about school easily enough, which, as it should happen, left Kenny to walk a few paces behind and briefly wonder if he, too, should have gone to school.

Then he remembered how much he hated being in a classroom and dismissed the idea entirely. People like Kyle and Bebe _loved_ learning shit. Not that Kenny didn't… he just already knew how to do a keg stand, had already smoked more weed than most kids would in their entire four years of high school, and had been in what appeared to be a permanent 'experimental' phase as far as sex went.

Blessedly, the quest for cupcakes went fulfilled without too much trouble. This being because Sheila had called Kyle and had started chewing him out for not having called her the second he landed. Ike had stayed outside with him to soften the blows. Butters had tagged along inside, mostly because he didn't much care for the Broflovski brand of affection (which often included shouting, a lot of eye-rolling, and a bunch of Yiddish words that no one but Stan and Kenny ever really understood). Instead he grabbed Patrick from Kenny's arms and went to look at the artwork around the store while Kenny placed his order.

"What kind are you getting?"

Kenny jumped when Ike appeared behind him, all curious and nose all up in Kenny's business. He rolled his eyes and pushed Ike's face away from him.

"Carrot is her favorite," Kenny explained.

"You should get her chocolate," Ike nodded, eyes going all big when Kenny glared at him. "Girls love chocolate."

"Fuck off, Karen hates chocolate," Kenny rolled his eyes as Butters came up to stand beside him on his other side.

"Trust me, dude," Ike nodded. "These chocolate cupcakes would turn even the staunchest of chocolate-haters into the light."

Kenny took a deep breath and, rolling his eyes again, conceded to get a chocolate cupcake if Ike promised not to talk to him for the rest of the ride home. Butters looked like he was about to say something when a little girl who couldn't have been older than three or four came up to him and tugged on the bottom of his shirt.

"Oh, uh… hi there,"

"I like your baby," she grinned, her fingers in her mouth and her tiny little shoes scuffing at the shiny floor.

"Well, thank you, sweetheart," Butters smiled. "But he's actually—"

The little girl's mother caught up with her and gave both Butters and Kenny a smile.

"Sorry," she said. "You two are an adorable couple and she just got so excited when I explained that you were daddies… she kind of got away from me."

Kenny just rolled his eyes, grabbed Butters by his free wrist, and tossed out a terse 'thanks' before he could explain that Patrick was _his_ kid, that this man beside him was _not_ his husband, and that he hadn't intended for any of this to happen and that if he'd had his way he'd be smoking weed in his living room, babyless, with his boyfriend of five years.

_Goddamn_, Kenny was too spectacularly fucked up even for himself sometimes. He shoved the box of cupcakes into Ike's arms, took Patrick from Butters and put him back in his car seat, and got into the car without a word. Kyle got into the front seat before Butters or Ike even thought to get into the car and locked the doors. He buckled his seatbelt and ignored the Ike's barrage of knocks on the windows and hood of the car.

"As your friend and your sponsor, I have to ask," Kyle looked over at him with that surly look on his face. "What in the _fuck_ do you think you're doing hanging out with Butters?"

"I don't know!" Kenny gripped the steering wheel, thankful he was by no means strong enough to rip it from the actual vehicle. "What the fuck possessed me to think that this would be okay?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Kyle deadpanned. "Did you forget how hard he fucked you up?"

"Uh, kind of difficult, dude," Kenny said, as though this were obvious. Patrick seemed to gauge the nature of the conversation and, of _course_, started crying.

"It's okay, baby," Kenny groaned and smacked his forehead against the steering wheel. "Uncle Kyle's right."

"Come on," Kyle turned around in his seat. "Don't cry. There's no reason for it."

"He's six months old, Kyle," Kenny groaned. "He doesn't process abstract concepts like 'okay' or 'reason'."

Then Butters knocked on his window and gave him a little smile, pointing to the back seat, to Patrick. Kenny sighed and unlocked the doors, a warm feeling settling over him when Butters climbed in the back and Patrick immediately started calming down. He turned around and looked at Patrick, who was sucking his thumb and looking at Kenny a little like he was a traitor to the crown for daring to think of getting rid of Butters.

Only Patrick was a baby, and babies didn't have opinions and agendas outside of getting fed, shitting their pants, and colorful things.

Kenny drove back to South Park somewhere far away from this plane of existence. Ike and Kyle were arguing about something or other, with Butters chiming in every once in a while to assert an opinion or two that led to new discussions and arguments. Every time he looked in the rear view mirror, he could see Patrick, fast asleep and holding fast to Butters' fingers. Somehow Kenny got the feeling that, if Butters were to retract his hand, Patrick would wake immediately and start wailing until he got attention of equal or greater value.

They got back to South Park, as per Kenny's promise to Sheila earlier in the week, before dinnertime. Kenny got out of the car to help Kyle with his bags, only to find that he and Ike had already taken care of it. Ike placed a hand on Kenny's shoulder and gave him an earnest nod.

"Chocolate cupcake," he nodded. "Bitches love chocolate cupcakes."

"Call my sister a bitch again and you lose a fucking limb," Kenny warned, but pulled Ike into a hug anyway. He was just an idiot, like every other seventeen-year-old on the planet, himself at that age included. Kyle came to shove Ike aside and hugged Kenny.

"Let me know if you need anything, dude," he said. "Butters-removal included."

"Thanks," Kenny laughed. "Unnecessary, but thanks."

"Not get the fuck out of here before my mom sees you," Kyle made a little face that made Kenny snort. He got back in the car only to see that Butters had since climbed into the front seat, and was now engaged in what looked to be a very competitive game of peek-a-boo.

"Jesus Christ, you are a _child_," Kenny rolled his eyes, although he couldn't ignore those pangs of affection stabbing him in the stomach. Who told them they could do that? Butters just stuck out his tongue and turned back around so he could get buckled in.

By the time they got to Kenny's parents' house, Kenny was just about ready to crawl back into his old bed and sleep for seven hours straight. Luckily, neither of his parents appeared to be home, so, you know, someone up there had to have been looking out for him. He grabbed the cupcakes out of the back and turned to tell Butters to keep an eye on Patrick when he realized Butters was already out of the car and pulling Patrick out of his car seat.

"You don' t have to come with me, dude," Kenny said, voice void of any and all emotion. Butters blinked at him.

"You think Karen'll forgive you if you don't bring her nephew and her sassy gay friend into see her?" he asked. Kenny groaned and ran a hand over his face.

He hated when Butters was right about things.

They walked up to the front door, Kenny giving a quick knock and trying not to notice the fact that he could smell that faint mix of soap and laundry detergent that made his brain think _Butters_.

When no one answered, Kenny knocked again, this time met with Karen's distinct voice telling him to calm his shit. She wrenched open the door not a second later, and—

And she looked awful. She'd already gotten out of her work uniform and showered, her hair all wet and scraggly against her pale, un-made-up face, and her big brown eyes red around the rims like she'd been… like she'd been crying. Kenny pushed his way into the house, shoving the box of cupcakes into her arms, and searching the immediate area for threats. Maybe his dad was here and his mom was using the truck or something. Kenny swore, if that fucker had said one _goddamned_ unkind word to his baby sister—

"No one's here," Karen gave a tired sigh. Her nose was all stuffed up like she'd been crying. Who the fuck thought it was okay to make Karen cry?

"Y'all right, darlin'?"

The words wrapped around Kenny's heart like barbed wire and squeezed. He barely heard Karen reassure Butters that she was fine over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. That was… Butters used to call _him_ that, run his hands over Kenny's back and ask in that exact same tone, in those exact same words.

_Too much to feel. _

"Work was just… really shitty today," Karen shrugged and kicked over an empty beer can as she moved to put the cupcakes on the kitchen table. Kenny gathered his bearings just in time to walk into the kitchen alongside Butters and see Karen lift the lid of the box and cock her head. He wasn't entirely sure why, but this entire day just seemed to be getting shittier and shittier, and he thought seeing Karen would make it better, but… God, this was just making it worse.

"Chocolate?" she asked and picked up the offending pastry. Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Ike was with me and he wouldn't leave me alone until I—" He was cut off by Karen taking the paper off of the cupcake and, like a hungry python, unhinged her jaw and devoured the thing whole. Butters and Kenny both looked on with big eyes as Karen chewed, looking more and more regretful with each move of her jaw.

"This is really gross," she mumbled through a mouthful of cake.

"Of course it is," Butters gave a little laugh. "What in the world possessed you to do that?"

"I don't know," Karen shook her head and started to cry. Kenny immediately flew to her and pulled her into his arms. Butters stood by, bouncing Patrick on his hip and trying not to look as concerned as he felt. Kenny kissed his sister on the forehead and held on even tighter.

"Names and faces," he said. "All I need are names and faces, baby girl."

"It's not anyone, Kenny," Karen shook her head and pulled away, wiping at her face. "Work was just shitty. That's all. Ugh, and you know what else?" she pointed a finger at his chest, seemingly over whatever the fuck had just happened. "Mom's birthday."

"What about it?" Kenny frowned.

"It's in two weeks," Karen looked at him like he must've had cotton in his head. "She wants to see Kevin's girls and you and Patrick, and I was thinking maybe we could take her out to dinner or something."

"Oh," Kenny scrunched up his face. "Oh Christ, Karen, don't make me do that. I don't want to be around Kevin."

"What about the girls?" Karen asked imploringly. Kevin had three little girls, aged six, five, and three, and all were about as timid and as frightful as anyone would expect three little girls to be under the shadow of a father like Kevin McCormick. Karen had had to talk Kenny out of calling CPS on several occasions, and had to keep him from kidnapping them in the night more than once. He loved his nieces—Karen, unfortunately, knew this and decided to play it to his advantage.

"Fine," Kenny rolled his eyes. "I'll go. But for mom and the girls."

"Great!" Karen beamed and pecked him on the cheek. "Now, get out of here so I can prepare for my hot date tonight."

"Hot date?" Kenny asked, eyebrow climbing higher and higher on his forehead as he further entertained the idea of his little sister going on a date. That, and he wasn't entirely sure that girls often sobbed around mouthfuls of cupcakes before dates. But then again, what did he know? The only dates he ever really went on had been with the guy standing three feet away from him, and even then they'd just go to the movies and eat pizza and crap like that.

He supposed, though, with the insistent way Karen pushed them out of the house, she must have been telling the truth. There, on the old McCormick stoop, Kenny looked over at Butters, his ex, his… his _friend_, and sighed.

"Wanna order out Chinese and watch a movie?"


	6. Chapter 5

**Trigger Warning: teen pregnancy. **Yes, that's a completely necessary warning.

That being said, I'm ever-so grateful to everyone who's reading, enjoying, and/or reviewing this story. Your feedback is always helpful and nice to hear and I adore every single one of you.

* * *

><p>Butters had learned from an early age that, when bad things happened, they tended to happen all at once.<p>

What happened earlier was not a bad thing. In fact, in the grand scheme of things, many people would consider it to be a very _good_ thing. He knew people who'd been out of college for a year and hadn't had any luck in the job market. The fact that he even had an interview was nothing short of a miracle. Butters wasn't stupid enough to let that go unnoticed.

_"Hello, Leopold Stotch, this is Annie McPhearson with Helping Hands. We received your resume and we would love to set up an interview with you on Monday if you can. Our number here at the office is—"_

"No shit!" Karen exclaimed as she played with Patrick on the floor of Linda and Stephen's bedroom. Butters was all the way in the back of their closet by now, frantically searching his father's various multitude of suits, ties, and shirts for any signs of interview-worthy clothing.

"Yeah," Butters called back. "Unfortunately, all my nice clothes ain't seen the light of day since high school and I'm considerably more… filled out?"

"I was going to use the use the word 'Rubenesque', but I guess that's accurate too," Karen said through a shrug, which made Butters pop his head out of the closet and stick out his tongue. "What exactly is this job, even?"

"It's for an organization that does a lot of work with underprivileged kids," Butters said back. "They're based in Denver, so I guess if they wanted me I'd have to find a place there, but they're the only ones who've called me back, so I kinda have to go."

"Fuck you," Karen said, moving to peek out into the closet. "You're not moving to Denver."

"I will if I get this job," Butters replied very frankly and pushed past yet another crisp white shirt. "And I won't get the job if I don't dress the part, and I _can't_ dress the part if I don't got nothin' decent to wear."

"Remind me to burn all of your clothes at the soonest available minute," Karen stood and pulled Butters back out into the room. Butters actually kind of preferred the closet—he didn't care to know the nature of the sexual atrocities still went on in this room, and seeing that bed only reminded him of the unfathomable horrors that went on in here. "You're going to leave me _again?_" Karen asked, eyebrows up in her hairline.

"I'm not leavin' anyone," Butters rolled his eyes and stooped to pick Patrick up off of the floor. "It's Denver, not the Sahara, and won't even know if it's a possibility after Monday. Plus, how could I leave this?"

Butters punctuated the statement by holding Patrick in front of his face and wiggling him just enough to get a giggle out of him. Karen gave a little laugh and rubbed an imaginary smudge off of her nephew's cheek. Butters couldn't help but notice she seemed a little far-off, but then again, it was her day off and if Butters remembered anything about days off it was that it was that attention spans sort of just… disappeared.

"Enjoy him now," she said. "This time next week, Kenny won't let him out of his sight."

"Why not?" Butters asked and turned Patrick back around to face him. He was smiling, a new tooth sticking out of his gums as he grabbed at Butters' shirt collar, and somehow it only made Butters want to smile back and let slip, "I mean, I don't know how he can to begin with. I certainly wouldn't if I had my way."

"Oh you wouldn't, would you?" Karen asked, this time giving him a look that specifically indicated just how much Butters probably shouldn't have said this. Butters just sighed and grabbed his elephant off of the floor, handing it back to Patrick.

"What's so special about next week?" Butters asked and brushed a little hair away from the top of Patrick's ear.

"God, it happens every time he sees the rest of our family," Karen rolled her eyes. "He, like, locks himself in his house and just kind of sits there… with his baby. It's kind of weird, actually."

Butters frowned and held Patrick close. He'd been under the impression that Kenny was doing all right, for the most part. That… that did not sound like normal human behavior.

"Jesus," he said and looked at Patrick, who was chewing on his shirt collar and looking up at him with big eyes. "Your daddy really do that to you?"

"You know he can't respond, right?" Karen laughed.

"Yeah, but that don't mean he can't hear," Butters shrugged and pushed a kiss to Patrick's forehead. "An' if any of his first words happen to be about his daddy bein' insane, well… We'll know why."

Karen laughed a little and ran her fingertips over Patrick's forehead. Butters couldn't help but take note of how softly she looked at him, how she regarded him with such care and affection.

"He's not insane," she said. "He's just trying to make sure his baby knows how much he's loved. Isn't that all you ever wanted when you were a kid? Above everything else, wasn't it just a fucking relief to know that your parents loved you more than anything?"

"Of course," Butters frowned slightly, bouncing Patrick a little as he did so.

"Yeah, well," Karen wiped at her face. Crying? When had she started crying? "We didn't have that. Kenny's just making sure he's giving Patrick what my parents didn't give us, and what Kevin's not giving his kids. I mean, it's weird, yeah, but I… I get it, you know?"

"Yeah, but caring about your kid doesn't mean you gotta smother him," Butters said, giving Patrick an empathetic look. "I gotta tell ya, I been on the abundance end of that stick and it's no fun. Having your parents care about everything you do, everyone you see… It's exhausting. Sometimes I wished they'd just let me be, you know?"

"Your parents are crazy, though," Karen groaned and stuffed his fists in her sweater pockets. She was wearing an old sweater of Kenny's that absolutely hung off of her skinny frame. "Kenny's not crazy. He just wants to make sure his kid has everything he didn't. That's not crazy—I think it's admirable and I only hope I'll be half the parent that he is."

Butters stared at Karen, eyebrows high on his forehead as he tried to think of something to say. She… she wasn't implying anything, was she? Right? She was only, like, nineteen, for God's sake. Patrick made a little noise and, Butters could've swore, burrowed into his chest. If indeed a six-month-old had the capacity to burrow into anything. Butters held him close and gave Karen another look.

"A-are you all right?" he asked, which was apparently was the wrong thing to say because it wasn't a moment later that Karen flew forward and wrapped her arms around both Butters and Patrick. "Jeez, Karen, don't squish the poor little fella."

The words seemed to have minimal effect on Karen, who just started sobbing and squeezed Butters and Patrick tighter.

"Butters, I don't know what I'm gonna do," she cried.

"About what?" Butters asked, one eyebrow arched as Karen pushed away and buried her face in her hands.

"I'm—oh, God Butters," Karen sighed and pulled back, laughing slightly in that way that both she and Kenny did when absolutely nothing was funny. "I'm pregnant. And before you—"

"You're what?" Butters shouted and turned Patrick away from the conflict. Karen just rolled her eyes and rubbed at her temples.

"Please, don't give me shit for this, I'm begging you," she said, her voice soft and low. "I know I'm already gonna get it from Kenny, and everyone else in this goddamn town, just… don't, okay?"

Butters was about to interject, about to insist that he was reacting in exactly the way he should, but Karen's eyes were all red and her mascara was all running and _aw, dang it_.

"Well, hold on a second," he said, more calmly this time as he set Patrick on his parents' bed. "You can't just drop this on a guy a-an' expect him not to react."

"Whatever," Karen sighed, seemingly exhausted from just saying everything outloud, "just spare us both the agony of asking me 'how it happened'."

Butters nodded and folded his arms. It was best, he found, in situations like these to let the one with the problem lead the conversation. Karen didn't seem too keen on that notion, however, just stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips, looking defiant. She was… _fuck_, she was so young. She didn't have a well-paying job, she didn't have supportive parents, she didn't—did she—

"Do you know who the father is?" Butters found himself asking, and Karen rolled her eyes.

"In spite of what you may have heard," she began, going to sit beside Patrick on the bed. "I'm not the town whore, all right? I don't just give it up to every good-looking guy who crosses my path. I'm not my brother."

"Of course not," Butters shook his head.

"This guy is… amazing," Karen said, a faint ghost of a smile flitting up onto her face. "One of the sweetest guys I've ever met."

"Aw gee, I'm not gonna like who it is, am I?" Butters asked with a slight grimace that made Karen huff impatiently.

"It's Ike Broflovski," Karen bit her lip.

Butters couldn't have heard that right. In fact, he was almost positive she hadn't said that right. Ike Broflovski was… well, he was seventeen, for one thing. And for another thing, he was kind of, for lack of a better phrase, an incorrigible little asshole. Butters looked at Karen's face, searching, looking, begging her to this whole thing was just some elaborate, tasteless joke. She just looked at him and gave a little nod, like she was even sorry that it was all true.

"Oh, Jesus," Butters said as he sat down on the other side of Patrick. "Sweet, merciful Christ, _how did this happen_?"

"I don' t know!" Karen whined and rested her sharp elbows against her knobby knees. "He was in my math class in junior year. The teacher had him tutor me and I found out that he's actually really, _really_ nice. It just kind of happened."

"Three years ago?" Butters shouted again. He really had to work on dialing down his reactions to things.

This wasn't L.A. No one cared if he was flamboyant or over the top here. So she'd been dating Ike for three years, so—Oh, what the hell!

"You're Ike's imaginary girlfriend!" he exclaimed, scandalized, and smacked her on the shoulder.

"Look, asshole," she punched him back. "We both agreed that it was probably best to keep quiet about it, you know?" she said softly, like Kenny was lurking outside the window and listening to their every word. Butters kind of wished he didn't have reason to believe that that was a very real possibility. Kenny may have been at work, but that didn't mean there wasn't a little part of Butters that believed that he was hanging upside down from one of the branches outside like some mentally deranged sloth.

Imagine what a lunatic like that would have done if he'd found out that his sister had been dating Ike Broflovski for… ugh, for three years.

"_Really_?" Butters found himself asking. Karen was going to hurt herself if she kept rolling her eyes like that. She leaned forward on her elbows and started cracking each knuckle in her hand one by one, pop by sickening pop. Shit, she _must've_ been freaking out.

In the time he'd been close with the McCormick children, Butters had determined that each one had certain… 'tics' seemed to be the appropriate word. In times of stress, Karen would crack and pop every joint she could get to; Butters had even had the distinct privilege of finding out that Kevin pulled out his hair strand by strand when he was upset. Kenny's had been harder to catch, but eventually Butters had caught onto it—When things became too much for Kenny McCormick, when he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, if you paid very close attention you could see him make a very distinct chewing motion with his jaw. It took a little longer for Butters to realize that he was actually attempting to suck on his own tongue in an effort to calm himself down.

It hadn't taken Butters very long after that to piece together the mystery behind Kenny's compulsive desires to suck him off, sometimes in wildly inappropriate places.

"You, uh," Butters gave a little cough when he noticed Karen staring at him. "You're sure that you're really… y'know. Pregnant?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Karen tangled her fingers in her hair. "I went to the doctor last week."

"By yourself?" Butters asked.

"With Ike," Karen shook her head. "And so far you two are the only ones who know."

"Kenny doesn't know?" Butters exclaimed and clapped his hands over his mouth, like Kenny was right behind him.

"Oh no," Karen looked at him gravely. "Tell me I didn't just make the biggest mistake of my life, telling you that."

"Hey now, this is on you," Butters held his hands up. "You know just as well as anyone that I can't keep anythin' from that boy worth a damn."

"Butters, please," Karen clasped her hands together and sank to her knees before him. Not exactly the McCormick he wanted in this position, but trust the Universe to muck up the little details like that. "Please, _please_ let me tell him. I promise I'm going to next week, just… after our mom's party. I can't do add this on top of it, you know?"

Butters regarded her with a strange mix of feelings stirring in his gut. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the _right _thing to do would be to drag Karen down to Kenny's work and make her tell him right then. If he ever found out that Butters knew about this before him, he'd throw a shit fit and probably not talk to Butters for a while. On the flip side, if he kept him in the dark that meant that Karen could tell him on her own terms and everything would be hunky dory.

But Kenny really, _really_ hated being left in the dark when it came to Karen. And what for? So he could protect her and keep her safe? Anyone could do that. Heck, Butters had done that before and he could do it again. He slid down to the floor and wrapped his arms around her small shoulders.

"You can count on me," he said and pulled back to brush a few strands of hair out of her face. "You got all your vitamins and instructions from the doctor, right?"

"Yeah," Karen nodded.

"You followin' the instructions?" Butters gave her a little reassuring half-smile. She gave a little laugh and nodded, then laughed even harder when Patrick crawled to the edge of the bed and grabbed Butters' hair. "How about food? How are you eating?"

"I'm eating fine," Karen rolled her eyes. Butters just shook his head and stood.

"No, you gotta eat _right_, missy," he insisted and scooped Patrick up into his arms. "Otherwise your baby'll be born without a brain."

"Shut up, that's not a thing," Karen rolled her eyes and stood.

"And stop standin' up so fast!"

"Jesus Christ, you're worse than Kenny!" she shouted. Patrick squealed and made to swat at Karen, but his chubby little arms didn't even bridge half the distance between them. Karen just sighed and folded her arms across her chest, like a defiant stance would deter Butters at all. He looked at Patrick and gave him a little bounce.

"Should we go make aunt Karen some real food for lunch?" he asked. Patrick broke out into a smile before Karen shook her head and rubbed her hand over his back.

"I have to take the truck into the shop," she said with a sigh. "Because my dad is being a prize asshole and won't do it himself."

"Just promise me you'll eat some leafy greens or somethin'," Butters said, and continued rather emphatically when Karen raised an eyebrow at him, "I took a class about women and pregnancy an' stuff! You gotta eat leafy greens, or your baby's born without a brain, honest!"

"You're making that up, Butters," Karen said as they walked down the stairs to the front door. She paused to kiss Patrick on the forehead. "But if it makes you feel any better I'll go out and eat some grass clippings after I take the truck in."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Butters called after her, as she walked out to her car. "Yo-you know what would happen to me if your baby was born without a brain, a-an' your brother finds out I knew about it at this crucial juncture in your pregnancy?"

Karen got into the truck with a quick flourish of her middle finger before she drove off, leaving Butters with a hammering heart and a deep desire to pull out his phone and tell Kenny everything that had just happened.

That meant he had to go find something else to do. He'd given Karen his word that he wouldn't say anything, and Butters… Butters kept his word. Now was one of those times he wished he'd taken up his mom's offers to teach him how to knit or something. Instead he set Patrick on the floor and moved the coffee table to the other side of the room. Patrick had used it to pull himself up the other day, but had also banged his head against it the next second when he'd lost his balance. Needless to say, Kenny had given him quite an earful about protecting his son's fragile person and not being such a 'negligent little twat'.

Only, Kenny was still letting Butters watch him. Maybe because Butters was still the only person available to watch him for such long stints of time, maybe because Kenny actually trusted him, or maybe because Butters had made it very clear that Kenny wasn't allowed to pay him—either way, Patrick and Kenny had become very permanent fixtures in his life since… well, okay, since about two weeks ago, but still.

He flipped on the TV and put it on some generic kids show that made Butters want to shoot the television set just a little bit, but took to dusting some of his mom's horrible knick-knacks instead, looking over his shoulder every once in a while to make sure Patrick was still upright and not dead.

And then once he turned around and saw Patrick eyes big and arm stretched out for his mom's stupid fucking cat. He made a quick move to pick her up and lock her up in his parents' bedroom, but Princess hissed at him and made to claw at his forearm when he did. He was about to grab Patrick and set him up on the couch when Princess sniffed forward and ran her cheek over Patrick's. He giggled and gave Princess a few heavy-handed pats that made Butters' stomach twist unpleasantly. The cat didn't seem to mind, just gave a satisfied 'meow' and started purring almost immediately.

Fuck, Butters hated this cat.

"You really like everyone but me?" he asked, and Patrick gave a happy little shriek in response. "No, I know _you_ like me. I'm talkin' to your new best friend over there."

Then Butters realized just how crazy he sounded talking to a cat and a baby, so he just continued with his tidying. He ran a dusting rag over all the pictures on the walls, over every single family portrait the Stotches had ever taken. Linda was adamant that they take a portrait every September, far enough before the holiday season to get them done without stress, and far enough into the year for the Christmas cards and newsletters to depict them accurately. The last one had been snapped about a week before Butters had left for school, on his eighteenth birthday, as a matter of fact. Not that anyone could've told from the way he was beaming at the camera, but he'd spent the majority of the day leading up to that photo waiting for a phone call that never came.

Because even if you disappeared without a trace, Butters felt that that was no reason to forgo a 'Happy Birthday' phone call.

Butters pursed his lips and lay the portrait face down on the shelf before he turned to see Patrick and Princess flat on the floor, cuddling, if that was indeed the proper term to be associated with a demon such as that fucking cat. He rolled his eyes, because the spawn of Kenny McCormick _would _get along perfectly with the likes of demons.

Butters sighed and turned to the coat closet, all ready to put that stupid portrait up on the top shelf and forget about it entirely, when he spied something tucked away in the corner.

A dingy yellow backpack—the same one, if Butters wasn't mistaken, that he'd used all through high school—with frayed edges and big grey footprints from where it had been kicked under desks sat, begging to be opened. Butters grabbed the bag by its worn out strap and pulled it out into the open, going to sit down on the floor beside Patrick just in case the cat decided to shift loyalties and claw at Patrick's face without warning.

"Let's see what I got in here, huh?" he asked absently. He was surprised his mom hadn't tucked it away up in his room, or that his dad hadn't thrown it away the second he'd left the house, but that was the Stotches for you: always finding new and exciting ways to be some of the weirdest people in South Park. He pulled out a few large three-ring binders, a book he'd forgotten to give back to Wendy before they'd both left for school, and a spiral notebook.

"Jesus, would you believe I used to think this was work?" Butters chuckled and held up a little worksheet from Spanish class for Patrick to see. He was too preoccupied with touching the cat's face to even take note of Butters' presence. Butters just shook his head and kept looking through everything—old notes and papers, old homework assignments and math problems that Butters couldn't even puzzle out now if he'd tried. As he flipped through his English notebook, a folded up, crumpled mass fell right in his lap.

"The hell?" he muttered to himself and unfolded the paper.

Oh no.

Oh Jesus.

If the heavy-handed cartoon dicks adorning the top of the paper hadn't been indication enough, that chicken-scratch was recognizable just about anywhere.

_'happy vd dude'_

_ 'Gee, thanks'_

_ 'sorry i didnt get you flowers or candy or some shit.'_

_ 'Gross. What are we, straight?' _

_ 'stfu i feel bad. everyones got teddy bears and balloons and you got jack shit. i feel like an asshole'_

_ 'Don't feel like an asshole. I didn't get you anything either. Besides, I get to fuck your brains out later. That's all all these guys want from their girlfriends anyway, that's why they got them gifts. Aren't you glad you get to skip all the bullshit and just pound the everloving fuck out of my ass instead?'_

_ 'the rest of the world thanks you for the massive boner ill have for the rest of the day.' _

Butters folded the note and put it back in the backpack. He couldn't recall a single thing from his senior English class, and now he remembered why. Kenny had sat right behind him, and just about every class period had been spent passing notes back and forth like they were thirteen-year-old girls trading gossip in sparkly purple pens and heart-dotted i's. Sure enough, his English notebook was littered with folded up pieces of paper, all of which had Kenny's messy scratch and Butters' cramped little scrawl going back and forth about absolutely nothing half the time.

Then there were the ones from the other half of the time that were just downright dirty, the ones that had resulted in them dashing out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang and locking themselves in the abandoned fourth-floor bathroom, muffling shouts against each other's necks and praying to God Craig Tucker and his gang wouldn't walk in to smoke a joint before the next period.

Butters wasn't sure which he hated more, the horned-up sex notes with the shaky writing or the stupid, trivial notes that indicated that they were just as comfortable talking about their English teacher's affinity for tacky cheetah prints and the word 'appalling' as they were about fucking each other senseless.

What was worse, was that there were a few notes that were obviously continuations of conversations that had been interrupted, that their teacher had yelled at them for having, even when it was blatantly obvious that one or the other of them really needed to talk. One in particular had started off with Kenny talking about a particularly nasty spat he'd had with his dad the night before, which had resulted in the black eye Butters later referred to in the note, and had ended with Kenny's hurried

_'thanks. will you just promise that i can always come to you with whatever and you can do the same with me?' _

_ 'Am I really that good at listening to you?'_

_ 'yeah dude you dont bullshit me i appreciate it.'_

_Fuck_. Fuck, he had to tell Kenny about Karen.

But Karen had looked up at him with those big puppy dog eyes and begged him not to. Rightly so, Butters figured. If he were a girl, and he had an older brother like Kenny, he didn't reckon he'd want anyone to let him know until he could puzzle out the right words himself.

God, Karen was _pregnant_.

The words still didn't sit right in his brain. Karen was still a thirteen-year-old girl, all gangly and too-tall, who'd only wanted to dance in the same class as her friend Ruby every Monday and Wednesday after school. She wasn't worried about doctor's appointments, or whether or not she'd be a good mother—the only concerns in her mind were learning how to spin without falling over and sneaking out of the studio before the class fees were due.

Now she had to worry about supporting a baby on top of supporting herself and saving up enough money to move away from her parents. How was she going to do that now? It wasn't like she had a lot of help, after all. It wasn't like Ike—

_Ike_.

Butters looked over at Patrick, who was now trying to grab a hold of the cat's tail, and hauled him up into his arms before disaster could strike. Patrick looked only slightly disappointed until he realized that Butters was indeed the one holding him and was quick to forgive him. He squirmed a little, so he could more easily grab at Butters' hair, and squealed when Butters detangled his pudgy little hands.

Only a week had gone by and suddenly Patrick had discovered he was very fond of tugging on hair, especially when it got someone to curse like a sailor.

"All righty, mister," he said very pointedly. "Whaddya say we go pay your Uncle Ike a little visit?"

Patrick gave a little giggle as Butters set him down and started unfolding the stroller beside the door. Kenny had been hesitant to leave it, mostly because the thought of letting Patrick outside without his supervision made him shit his pants, but Butters had insisted that fresh air would be good for him and convinced him to leave it anyway. Good thing, too, otherwise he would've been stuck walking all the way to the super market with Patrick in his arms.

As it stood, practically running to the grocery store _and_ pushing a stroller weren't exactly prize-winning ideas to put together for someone who hadn't been actively _active _since the last time he did a dance show in senior year, but at least he made it in through the automatic doors alive.

"Jesus Christ, Butters, calm the fuck down," came the flat, emotionless reply of one Craig Tucker. Butters looked up, panting heavily, and saw that Craig was all decked out in a vest with a nametag.

"He-hey there, Craig," he smiled. "You wouldn't ha-happen to know if Ike is workin' today, would you?"

"Why do you care?" Craig asked and Butters frowned. He'd kind of forgotten how much of a dick Craig could be, though he wasn't sure how such a crucial detail could slip his mind.

"I care 'cause I'm lookin' for him," he replied, straightening up.

"Is that McCormick's kid?" Craig asked again, and even if there wasn't any sign of any more judgment than usual in his voice, Butters felt himself bristle just the same.

"Not that it's any of your business," he began, "but yeah. Just tell me where the heck Ike is an' I'll get outta your hair."

"He's restocking in produce," Craig shrugged. "No need to get your dick in a knot."

Butters just rolled his eyes and practically sailed to the produce section, where, sure enough, Ike was piling apples into towers and looking… Oh Jesus, looking just as shitty as ever. He looked a little like every college student did around finals time, all wilted and exhausted, like too long of a blink would find them face down on the floor, fast asleep. Butters softened a little at that, but it didn't deter him. Ike was going to be a father, and if Kenny couldn't do this right now, Butters was just going to have to take the initiative and do it himself.

"Ike," Butters said, only Ike didn't appear to hear him. He looked a little like he'd fallen asleep standing up, like a horse.

"Ike!" he shouted this time, jolting Ike out of whatever state he'd been in and sending him into defense mode.

"I was restocking!" he exclaimed and looked around frantically before he settled on Butters. "Oh hey, dude," he breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed just a bit.

Mistake.

"What in the hell do you think you were doin'?" he snapped just enough to get Ike's attention again.

"I… don't know what you're—"

"Getting Karen McCormick _pregnant_?" he enunciated very softly, so no one could hear him. Ike visibly paled, which Butters only took as an invitation to continue. "How could you be so goddamned _stupid_? Weren't you supposed to be a genius or somethin'?"

"Don't fucking call me that," Ike rolled his eyes wearily and went back to stacking apples. "For the last fifteen fucking years that's all I've ever heard from anyone. I can't do anything stupid or make mistakes because I'm a fucking genius? Yeah, right. That makes sense. And you know what? I don't _think_ this is a bad thing, okay? I love Karen more than anything, so fuck you."

"Ike, I know you love her," Butters attempted to reason, but Ike threw an apple at his chest and gave him a look only a wild man would give to his prey right before he attacked.

"Don't give me that shit," he shook his head. "You don't fucking know. You're not in love, you've never been in love, so what the fuck would you know?"

"_Excuse_ me?" Butters asked, eyebrows all the way up on his forehead as he pushed Patrick's stroller a little off to the side. No child should have to be subjected to what was about to happen.

"Well, well, if it isn't two of my favorite people," came the all-too familiar voice of Kenny McCormick. "And Ike."

"He-hey, Kenny," Butters gave a little nervous smile as Ike merely grunted his greeting. Kenny unlatched Patrick from his seat and scooped him up into his arms, taking care to press a kiss to his forehead hug him close. It kind of made Butters' chest hurt just a little bit.

"What's going on?" Kenny asked warily, like he'd only crept up on them just to make sure they weren't saying anything of interest. Ike shook his head and yawned.

"Your boy wonder here was just wondering where we kept our Preparation-H," he said.

"Uh-huh," Kenny smirked, giving Butters a little side glance. Butters forced a smile back and just hoped Kenny wouldn't ask him any questions. He'd promised Karen he'd keep her pregnancy stuff to himself, but that _had _been before he'd seen Kenny's face.

Luckily, Kenny didn't seem to be too concerned with Butters, just looked at Ike and observed, "You look like shit, meanwhile."

"I," Ike began as he resumed his stacking, "have been having a breakthrough with my novel. Haven't really been sleeping."

"Come on, Ike," Kenny rolled his eyes. "You've been working on that shit for three years."

"And I sent it into a few publishers yesterday," Ike finished with a terse smile. "Gotta start trying to capitalize on my so-called genius at some point."

Jeez, Butters couldn't help but think. Maybe he was trying to make an effort with this whole baby thing, to bring in a little more money so he and Karen wouldn't be drowning in debt.

"Nice," Kenny nodded and turned to Butters. "What brings you here?"

"Hemorrhoids," Ike muttered, and Butters shot back a glare.

"I was just here," he supplied and looked back at Kenny. "To get somethin' to make for dinner. For you. I-it's Friday, figured you were tired, could probably use a good meal."

And there was a time when Kenny would've seen right through that and called 'bullshit' almost immediately. Butters supposed he should have felt a little twinge of guilt for taking advantage of just how tired and worn out Kenny must have been, but it was for the best, right?

Right.

"That'd be awesome, dude," Kenny smiled. Butters turned back to Ike and may or may not have stuck out his tongue. Ike just rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'jumping up someone's ass not being a cure for your own ass bumps'.

"So, uh," Kenny began as Butters began grabbing the ingredients for chicken soup. "My sister called me."

Butters perked up. That girl… That sweet, amazing girl. Maybe he wouldn't have to keep this all to himself after all. Maybe, just maybe, things would go Butters' way. He had to play it cool, though. He had to make it seem like Kenny had no reason to suspect anything whatsoever.

"Oh?" he responded in an ever-so cavalier manner.

"Yeah," Kenny sighed. God, he sounded so tired. "She said my mom's working next weekend, so her birthday thing needs to be rearranged."

"Oh," Butters deflated just a bit. _Damn._

"Yeah," Kenny nodded. "She says everyone can do tomorrow, as long as I'm on board."

"Jesus, that's awful soon," Butters frowned.

"I know," Kenny groaned and wiped an imaginary smudge off of Patrick's cheek. What was it with McCormicks and wiping off kid's faces? "And not how I want to spend my fucking day off, thank-you-very-much."

"You gonna go?" Butters asked.

"Of course," Kenny rolled his eyes at his own spineless compliance with his sister's wishes and, let's be honest, demands. "Can I ask you something?"

"You know you can," Butters said, now looking at a few softball-sized onions like they were the most interesting things in the world.

"Would you mind, like," Kenny took a breath. "You wouldn't mind coming with me, would you? Just because I don't want to deal with everyone's shit alone, and Karen's going to be busy making sure everything's all organized and shit."

Oh… Oh no. That was a bad idea if Butters ever heard one. The McCormicks weren't exactly his biggest fans, especially after Carol had pieced together that he and Kenny were a little more than just close friends. He got the feeling she didn't mind who her son fucked so much as she minded that it happened down the hall from her. She'd probably never wanted to know that her youngest son was a screamer-Butters had taken that from her and it couldn't be given back.

No, the McCormicks could just stick to doing what they did best: drinking and making everyone feel like shit.

"Sure, I'll go with you."

"Dude, thank you," Kenny wilted in relief and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Patrick let out a giddy giggle at being squished between the two of them.

Meanwhile, Butters couldn't help but think what a terrible mistake he'd just made.


	7. Chapter 6

Hi guys! **Long chapter is long** as fuuuuck. Hopefully I'll be able to knock out **at least one or two more chapters** before I go back up to school next weekend. If it turns out to be as long as this one... well, we'll see.

**Thank you** to all my **readers** and **reviewers**. You are deeply beloved in my heart and** I do adore your feedback**.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Kenny could remember the night his first niece was born. He'd been fifteen, it had been New Year's day, and he'd been stuck in a hospital for twenty hours instead of out ringing in the new year with Stan and Kyle, smoking pot and sharing a 40 like they had for the last… well, for the last year, but traditions had to start somewhere, right?<p>

And okay, he hadn't regretted it. Christine was a tiny girl and it was entirely likely that childbirth would actually _kill_ her if something went even the slightest bit wrong, and he would've rather been there to comfort his asshole brother instead of off being a dickhead with his friends somewhere else.

He was just that kind of guy.

The moment Madison had been born, Kevin had come out of the delivery room, bypassed his sleeping parents entirely, and had taken a seat right beside Kenny, who had been acting pillow for their sister. He looked shell-shocked, like he'd just seen things he'd never be able to unsee, like he was a fucking prisoner of war who'd just seen the enemy decapitate one of his own.

"Everything okay?" Kenny had asked.

"I'm a dad," Kevin had replied, more softly than Kenny had ever heard him speak, and looked over at Kenny. "I'm fucked."

"You're not fucked," Kenny had rolled his eyes and shifted, careful not to wake the snoozer in his lap. "And even if you were, I wouldn't let you be, all right? I'm your brother, dude—I'll always help you if you need it."

"Shit, you mean that?" Kevin asked, voice low and gravelly as he looked at Kenny with the utmost curiosity. Kenny nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Of course," he said with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Kevin may have been a Grade A dick, but that didn't mean he had to be one back, no matter what Stan and Kyle and even Cartman said. That had been weird, showing the guys the black eye Kevin had given him one morning and having Cartman to tell him to kick him in the nuts right back.

Honestly, Kenny shouldn't have said anything. Love wasn't some transcendental bond that united them together—they weren't those kids of brothers. It was a weakness that could be exploited. For as much of an asshole as he was, Kevin was an observant motherfucker, and the moment Kenny had held his niece in his arms he knew Kevin knew he'd never let this girl want for anything.

The only time he ever saw Kevin, he hit him up for obscene amounts of money, all in the name of getting his kids dentist and doctor's appointments or shit like that. Every. single. time. And, because he couldn't bear the thought of his nieces having fucked up teeth or chicken pox or the flu, Kenny always rebalanced his budget and shelled out a little cash to help.

Hence, one of the many reasons Kenny absolutely hated the idea of being around his family all day long.

He woke up to the devastatingly familiar smell of Butters' bed, and realized that, _fuck_, he must've fallen asleep at Butters' house again.

Right.

He'd stopped by the store after work and gone back home with Butters, because Butters had made him dinner. Then they'd found a bottle of scotch in the back of the cabinet after Patrick had fallen asleep, and… shit, what had happened after that? He outstretched an arm, patting around for another body that might have been able to give him some clue, but he came up short.

He shot up, panic surging through every fiber of his being, and—_oh goddamn_, a very unpleasant headache. Kenny clutched the side of his head and threw the covers off the top of him.

"Butters!" he shouted, his head throbbing as he wrenched open the door and ran down the hallway to the stairs. "Leopold Stephen Stotch, where the _fuck_ is my kid? I swear to God, if you're not—"

He paused when he saw Butters and Patrick on the couch, Butters all stretched out in flannel pajama bottoms and his old P.E. shirt with Patrick on his chest. Both of them were fast asleep. It was then that Kenny realized that it was only about seven-thirty in the morning and that he didn't actually have to be anywhere for hours, and suddenly he was very, _very_ tired again. Fuck, Butters must've been sleeping down here all night.

With Patrick.

Kenny winced as he crouched beside the both of them and wondered vaguely if Karen would excuse him from today's gathering under the excuse of being hungover as shit. He looked up to see Patrick staring at him with sleepy eyes and thumb in his mouth, while Butters remained out like a light. Kenny smiled and kissed Patrick on the forehead.

"Morning, bud," he hummed and stroked at his cheek. "Found a new pillow, huh?

Patrick didn't respond, just yawned, and Kenny laughed a little. Their parenting skills may have been questionable, but the world couldn't deny the plain and simple fact that Kenny McCormick and Bebe Stevens made one cute little kid.

And he looked right at fucking home on Butters Stotch's chest.

Which was only Kenny's worst nightmare. Truth be told, he'd thought about it a time or two before, raising a family with Butters. Perverted, vulgar, and a little unhinged, sure, but being all of those things in no way meant that Kenny didn't ever want to find someone just as perverted, vulgar, and unhinged to share his life with.

Butters (at least, Butters at age seventeen) had managed to have a bigger hidden collection of porn than Kenny had had, cursed like a sailor when things went to shit or you fucked into him just right, and let's not get started on how insane Butters could be if you left him alone for too long.

Kenny sighed and grabbed one of Patrick's hands in his.

"You like him, don't you?" he asked softly. As was in his nature, Patrick didn't respond, so Kenny took to looking back at Butters' face. As a general rule (the exception being his son), Kenny didn't like watching people while they slept. It was an invasion of privacy, for one thing, and for another thing it was just plain creepy.

That being said, Butters' already boyish face managed to look so soft and innocent as he slept. Back in high school this would have been easy; back in high school, Kenny would've just cupped Butters' cheek in his hand and kissed him awake, would've climbed on top of him and started up a round of lazy morning sex. Now he couldn't. Aside from the obvious fact that his son would complicate the latter, the former just plain wasn't advisable at the moment.

Except, why wasn't it? Butters seemed to like him all right still, and he was damn good with his kid. Plus, it wasn't like he'd changed as much as Kenny had thought he would. His hair was longer than it had been back in school, more stylish, maybe? Kenny could only imagine what being that cute, that blonde, and that gay could do to a guy in a place like L.A.

Only he didn't have to imagine—he knew. He'd seen the facebook pictures.

A few weeks back in town and already Butters looked almost entirely like his old hick self, with his thick jeans and corduroy pants, with his fleece and flannel and t-shirts… nothing like the ultra-flamboyant boy he'd seen grow up through pixilated pictures.

Butters stirred just then, too quickly for Kenny to dive out of the way and pretend he hadn't been staring so he just kind of had to let himself get caught. Butters jumped a little when he noticed, giving a slight sleepy laugh as he brought a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Y'scared the shit outta me," he chuckled softly, accent thick and warm with sleep. Fuck, Kenny loved the sound of that voice. It was just so homey, so welcoming and inviting, and coming out of that mouth? Forget it. Kenny couldn't help the too-full feeling his chest got at that, couldn't help the smile that spread across his face when Butters looked down at Patrick, drifting off again on his chest, and smiled right along with him.

Kenny didn't even realize it had happened until it was over, until he could feel the warm slick of saliva cooling on his lips and his heart thumping against his ribs.

He'd kissed Butters. Oh dear God in Heaven, he'd kissed Butters. Four years of vehement denial and insistent 'you-don't-need-him's, all to be destroyed by the fact that this fucker had _smiled _at his kid?

"Kenny?" Butters asked softly, morning breath ghosting across Kenny's lips and, yeah, fine, that was pretty gross, but _fuck_, Butters perfect fucking mouth was _right there_ and not taking advantage of that? That was just plain wrong. So, Kenneth Patrick McCormick, master of impulse control, ducked back down and captured Butters' lips in his once more.

Only it was kind of off-center, because their mouths were at different angles, and a little weird because there was a squirming baby six inches away from their faces, but _fuck_… fuck, it felt good. He just wanted to fall back into Butters and never, ever leave again.

Then, of course, Patrick started crying and they had to pull away.

"Oh, shit," Kenny muttered, head still full of fuzz as he picked Patrick up off of Butters' chest and stood. "Shit, you need to eat. Butters, I'm really sorry, but I've gotta get him home, I used his last bottle last ni—"

Butters didn't let him finish before he stood and walked into the kitchen. From his place by the couch, Kenny could see him open the pantry and procure a small tub of formula, holding it up for Kenny to see before he went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle.

"Jesus, you think I'm a total waste of space?" Butters asked over Patrick's wails as he began mixing everything up. Kenny walked into the kitchen and, in his momentary inability to form words, grabbed Butters by the back of the neck and pulled him into another kiss. He… fuck, he cared enough about his kid's wellbeing to stock his house with baby supplies. Patrick hiccupped a little, but didn't actually stop bawling until he had the bottle securely in his mouth. Even as he stood there, feeding his kid, Kenny couldn't stop looking at Butters, who was now all flushed in the face and leaning back against the counter in that way that adorably pretty boys did.

"I-I just figured it'd be better to be safe than sorry, y'know?" he gave a nervous little laugh. "Glad I stocked up now."

Kenny grinned and sat down in one of the dining chairs. Silence fell between the three of them, save for the sound of formula draining out of Patrick's bottle at what had to have been a record rate. Butters looked down at his feet and scratched at the back of his head, mussing up his hair even more than it already was.

Fuck it all, he was going to try to talk about it.

"Hey," Kenny began. "I should—we should go back home and change before my mom's thing. I mean, you can… you can come with if you wanna get ready now. Then we can just leave from my house. Or whatever."

Butters gave him a wary look, but nodded nonetheless. Kenny let out a little breath of relief and set the empty bottle down on the dining table. He was in fact about to stand when Butters leaned forward, clasping Kenny's chin in one of his hands, and pressed their lips together again.

"I'm on to you," he said softly. "And we're gonna talk about this whether you like it or not."

And with that he left to go get dressed upstairs.

Kenny let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and looked down at Patrick with big eyes.

"Well, I'm fucked," he said quite frankly and gave Patrick a little bounce. "You've got my back if things go to shit, right?"

Patrick just hiccupped a little and hid his face and leaned forward, crashing into Kenny's chest and popping his thumb in his mouth like food and a warm chest was all a guy needed.

And fine, Kenny would be hard-pressed to argue that.

Butters had chosen to wear a bright yellow shirt and a pair of jeans that hugged his ass in a most pleasing manner, if Kenny had anything to say about it. Of course, this was a classic Butters tactic, seen many times before in the heat of battle: for as timid and sweet as he was, Butters had a vague idea of how attractive he was, and an even greater sense of how attractive Kenny found him, and, when he wanted, he was not above playing this attractiveness to his advantage. It wasn't exactly a becoming outfit on its own, but Butters kind of made really simple things work to his advantage all the time. It was actually sort of maddening.

"What's the backpack for?" Kenny asked as they turned onto his street, determined to shift his focus by any means necessary. Butters looked down, like he'd forgotten that he'd even brought it, and gave a little shrug.

"Figured I'd bring some movies to watch," he shrugged.

Kenny left it at that. Butters was going to try to get him to talk, and Butters was nothing if not persistent.

The thing was, though, that Kenny had already lived through all the pain and bullshit once. Talking about it, about the fact that they'd kissed just as easily as they would have four years ago, seemed counterproductive, because it would only end with Butters asking why Kenny had disappeared, where he'd gone to, what he'd done until he found himself back in South Park.

And Kenny didn't want to talk about that. He couldn't even tack on a 'not yet' to that sentiment. He plain did _not_ want to have anything to do with that conversation, and would spend the rest of his life avoiding it if he could.

Only you didn't avoid things with Butters Stotch. It just wasn't done.

By the time Kenny left Patrick and Butters downstairs to watch a movie, he'd decided that, if things were going to start up again between them, he had to proceed with caution. They weren't kids anymore—they both had lives and, last Kenny had checked, they'd both severely disrupted each other's the last time they'd attempted this. Plus, Patrick was in the picture now. He couldn't… he couldn't just get involved with anyone now, no matter what 'getting involved' entailed. Everything he did, everything he would do for the rest of his life, would now have some sort of effect on his kid. Kenny wasn't going to fuck up his kid like his parents had fucked up him and Kevin, or like they'd attempted to fuck up Karen. He was going to be a _good_ dad, and if being a good dad meant protecting his kid from heartbreak by jerking off in the shower for the rest of his life… well, that's what he'd do.

Only he was now entering into his seventh straight month of abstinence and it was kind of starting to take a toll on him. Or, at least, he thought it was. He couldn't really remember anymore.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, clicked it against the roof of his mouth a few times, and went into his bathroom after a few minutes of staring blankly into his closet. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and pulled out a little ceramic box, inside of which sat a small collection of rings—eyebrow rings, earrings, labret rings, and, blessedly, tongue rings. For the most part, he'd stopped wearing his tongue rings, if only because they chipped the hell out of his teeth and he'd been out of the death-and-regeneration game for nearly a solid two years now. His teeth were a little jagged in certain places now, but fuck if he could get them fixed. He slipped in a ring, one of a heavier, more substantial material, and rolled it around in his mouth for a second.

It should have been strange, how much better that made him feel, but he wasn't too inclined to care. With everything he was in for today, he was going to need all the little comforts he could get.

"Hey, Ken," Butters appeared in the doorway, giving a short little knock just to make sure he wasn't intruding. Kenny shoved the box back into the medicine cabinet and gave him a smile.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Patrick an' I are gonna watch Finding Nemo," he said. "You want us to wait for you?"

"Uh, not exactly my jam, but thanks," Kenny laughed and caught his reflection in the mirror. He ran his fingers through his hair and vaguely wondered if he should style it back into something that gave him some semblance of being put together.

"Aw, come on," Butters rolled his eyes. "It's really good. And it also happens to be your son's new favorite movie."

"He's an infant," Kenny asserted very frankly. "His only favorite thing is eating. Pooping comes in a close second."

"I'm sorry," Butters put an assisting finger to his ear. "I didn't quite catch that: did I just hear you arguing with the baby whisperer?"

"Whatever," Kenny snorted and looked back at Butters. "Start the movie, I've gotta call Karen and ask her if I'm supposed to bring anything anyway."

Butters gave a nod and, for a moment, looked like he was going to come into the bathroom and give Kenny a quick kiss before he ran back downstairs. He didn't, though. In fact, if the past was anything to go on, Butters was probably waiting for Kenny to make the next move.

Fat fucking chance.

He turned awkwardly back to the sink and ran his fingers under the tap, bringing them up then to wet at his hair. Butters was gone by the time he turned back, which was really just as well, since they weren't going to get anywhere by sucking each other's faces off in a bathroom anyway.

Okay, they'd get somewhere, but that wasn't a particularly desirable somewhere to be.

Only it kind of was.

Even if that place was causing him more anxiety than anything right now.

Fuck, Kenny knew he never should've stopped smoking pot. He never should've stopped smoking _period_, but… he supposed if he was going to spend the next seventeen-and-a-half years trying not to get killed, he may as well give himself all the help he could.

He didn't bother dressing right away, just flopped back onto his bed and took a series of deep breaths. It was sort of strange—in the last six months, this was the first time he'd ever been alone in his room without the pressing urge of needing to do something else looming overhead like the blade of a fucking guillotine. He grabbed his pillow from under his head and put it over his face. Then, without even realizing it, he began to cry for about the billionth time since Patrick had been born. He'd never been a crier before that fucking kid came along, and now it seemed like it was the only thing his body would let him do.

It didn't last too long, because it never really did, but he knew he'd probably be a morose sack of shit for the rest of the day. What else was new, though?

He dozed off for a little bit after that, waking only when he heard the distinct sound of his son screeching at the top of his lungs. Within seconds, Kenny leapt from the bed and bolted down the stairs, only to find that Butters was holding him high above his head and—goddamn it—making airplane noises. Why in God's name did he always get the weird ones?

"The hell are you doing?" Kenny asked, voice coming out all croaky and revealing that he'd been napping and notdoing what he'd told Butters he'd be doing.

"The heck are _you _doing?" Butters asked as he brought Patrick down to his chest. "I thought you were gettin' dressed and talkin' to Karen."

"I… may have taken a little cat nap," Kenny yawned and began trudging back up the stairs. "I'm on… I'm on the other stuff now, though."

"Ken," Butters came forward and seized Kenny's wrist. "A-are you sure you're all right?"

"'m fine, Butters," Kenny groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

"'cause if you don't feel up to going, you shouldn't," Butters shook his head. "You can just go out, yo-you an' your mom or somethin'."

"Dude, I'm fucking fine," Kenny snatched his hand back. "You don't know shit about it, okay? I'm fine, my kid is fine, we're all fine."

"You're _not_ fine," Butters rolled his eyes and followed Kenny upstairs. "I'm not tryin' to be an asshole, honest. You just look like you could use a day to yourself is all."

"Yeah, well, I don't fucking get those anymore, all right?" Kenny snapped, stopping Butters right in his tracks. "I'm going to my mom's birthday, I'm going to have a shit time, and I'm going to do it with a fucking smile on my face because that's what my life is now."

And it felt wrong, being so short and mean with Butters, because he wasn't much conditioned to argue after his parents had basically spent the duration of his childhood grounding him into submi—

"Fuck off! Don't ask me to come to your stupid family functions with you if you're just gonna be a fuckin' dick all day!"

_Holy shit. _ Kenny had seen Butters upset before, had even seen him unequivocally _pissed_ once or twice, but this was new. Normally, Butters' 'I mean it' face didn't do much more than make people want to pinch his cheeks or, occasionally, outright laugh at him—maybe it was the way his jaw had squared out, or the way his brow furrowed just a little deeper, like he'd been through hell and back since the last time he'd been good and upset at Kenny.

"Fine," Kenny wilted and held his arms out for Patrick. Butters handed him over and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm goin' because you _asked_ me," he asserted very calmly. "And I'm tellin' you if you don't wanna go, then you shouldn't go."

"I'm gonna go change him and get ready," Kenny yawned and rested his chin atop Patrick's head. Butters made a move to grab Patrick, like he was going to offer to change him himself, but Kenny put a hand on his face and gave him a gentle push away.

"Let me bond with my fucking kid, asshole," he said, smiling at Butters' petulant little frown. He needed to spend a few minutes with Patrick before they got to his parent's house, before Carol took him right out of Kenny's arms and held onto him for the rest of the day.

Patrick, as expected, was intercepted the moment they'd arrived. Carol had answered the door with a big smile as she held out her arms and said, "Come to gramma, my sweet little angel."

"Hi, mom," Kenny gave her a little smile and pecked her on the cheek. He tried not to think about how she hadn't washed her hands, or about how fucking filthy this house was, and tried to repeat to himself what Butters had told him a few weeks ago: it would build up his immune system.

But if he saw one fucking roach, he swore to god they were leaving.

"I didn't realize you were bringin' a friend, Kenny," Carol said, eyeing Butters like she knew he used to suck her son's cock on countless occasions. Expectedly, Butters just gave her a bright and endearing smile.

"Nice to see you, Mrs. McCormick," he beamed. "I-I been lookin' after Patrick for the last few weeks, so Kenny wanted me to come a-an' make sure everything was all hu-hunky-dory with him."

"Oh, I see," Carol nodded, stepping aside so they could come in. "You think that five adults can't take care of one baby?"

"That's exactly it, ma," Kenny nodded and gave her a quick peck on the cheek as both he and Butters stepped over the threshold. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, baby," gave him a smile, though it was obvious she was still a little suspicious of Butters' presence no matter how many times he smiled. Kenny didn't give a flying fuck, to be quite honest. Karen was the only person in the house who knew for sure what he and Butters had been, so it wasn't—

"Holy shit."

Kenny looked up to see Kevin standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at both Kenny and Butters like they were fucking ghosts or something.

_Shit_. Okay, so maybe it was just his parents who didn't know about him and Butters.

Or, judging by the looks his mom kept giving the both of them, maybe just his dad.

"Come here," Kevin wrapped a rather abrasive arm around Kenny's neck and pulled him into the kitchen. So it began, then. Kevin released him as soon as they were out of sight, backed him against a wall, and gave him a rather demanding look.

_Odd_, Kenny thought. Usually Kevin waited until hour two or three of a function to start buttering Kenny up for stuff.

"'the fuck?" he asked instead.

"Excuse me?" Kenny raised an eyebrow.

"_Excuse me_?" Kevin mocked back in one of those snobbish voices reserved for mimicry of the Harvard graduate and people who had dishwashers. "Why the fuck are you bringing your fag friend to our shit?"

"Don't call him a fag, dude," Kenny warned. "Don't call him jack shit. Second of all, don't single him out for being gay when you're the one who caught me with _his_ dick down _my_ throat, got it?"

"Aw, goddamn it!" Kevin groaned and grimaced that wonderfully satisfying grimace, the one that Kenny just loved seeing cross his face when it turned out he'd gotten the best of him. Kevin had always been a master of physical feats, but the moment those rumors about Kenny in the boy's bathroom started circulating, Kenny had decided that he would spend the rest of his life waging psychological warfare on this dickhead.

The fact that Kevin been stupid enough to pick the fucking lock on Kenny's door the one day everyone was out of the house, the one day that he'd decided to come by and steal a fuckton of Kenny's clothes, during one of the countless times Kenny had brought Butters home after school to fuck his brains out? That was on him.

"I'll let that sink in," Kenny nodded and patted Kevin on the shoulder before he went back out in the living room in hopes of finding Karen. Instead he found his two oldest nieces, Madison and Ashley, poised and ready for attack behind the couch and armchair.

"Hey there, ladies," he said through a tired, albeit earnest smile. Both of them squealed in what was probably the most ear-shattering dissonance Kenny could've possibly imagined before they tackled him to the ground. Unlike their father, Kenny didn't have the same meat-headed inability to be knocked over. Kenny was agile, yes, but Kevin was a fucking rock.

"Uncle Kenny!" Madison began, poking Kenny just a little too hard in the ribs. "Uncle Kenny, did daddy tell you that he's gonna let me take ballet? I'll be like Aunt Karen!"

Kenny craned his head backward to see the upside down vision of his brother shrugging at him in the doorway of the kitchen. Great. Today was all about getting Kenny to pay for Madison's ballet classes. Those shouldn't have been too fucking expensive.

"That's great, Maddie," Kenny smiled and then looked to Ashley. "And what about you?"

"I'm going to kindergarten in… after… when it's not summer," she smiled and threw her arms around Kenny's neck. Kenny laughed and kissed her on the cheek. As much of an asshole as Kevin was, and for as much as he terrified the shit out of his poor girls, they were some of the sweetest kids Kenny had ever met.

"No way," his eyes got all exaggerated and big. "Not already. You're practically a lady."

"I'm going to Maddie's school!" Ashley declared excitedly. "And then Livvy will come—she'll come to _my _school."

"Uh-huh," Kenny nodded. "And where's Miss Livvy?"

Madison looked up from her spot on Kenny's stomach and pointed back at the couch, where Olivia, their youngest sister, was staring at Butters with her head cocked and her thumb in her mouth.

"She's talking to the boy who came with you over there," she said.

"Huh," Kenny pursed his lips. "And what's she find so interesting about that goon, you think? What's so cool about him?"

Ashley and Madison both giggled and Butters looked from Olivia up to Kenny. He gave Kenny a smile that suggested he found this all to be simultaneously adorable and worthy of blackmail. He stuck out his tongue very briefly, and only sucked it back in when Butters' entire expression glazed over.

"Uncle Kenny put the thingy back in his mouth!" Madison clapped and giggled. Kenny had once entertained them with different colored tongue rings every time he saw them, and both had been sorely disappointed when he'd stopped wearing them. Ashley went so far as to try to pull his tongue out of his head in sheer excitement, at which point Kevin intervened (which amounted to nothing more than him clipping out a very effective 'knock it off') and the girls went over to join their little sister.

"I'll tell you what's not cool about him," Kevin said as Kenny stood.

"That he gives better head than your wife ever will?" Kenny muttered and went to go sit beside Butters and see just what all the hubbub was about. Butters, as was expected, looked entirely at home in the presence of children. He was just one of those people, Kenny supposed, who had a big honest face and a sunny disposition kids could just relate to. Currently, Madison was relaying to him the exact details of her future life as a ballerina princess.

And fuck it all, Kenny kind of wanted to cry again. Karen used to say shit like that all the time.

"So sorry to interrupt, ladies," Kenny said. "But has anyone seen Aunt Karen?"

"She's upstairs!" Madison said brightly.

"Gramma said she's 'kneeing the porcel god'," Ashley concurred, which only made Kenny frown.

"What's that?" he asked.

"I dunno," Ashley confessed through a shrug. "She looked like she was throwing up to me."

Kenny wasted no time in darting up the stairs and making his way to the bathroom all the way at the end of the hall. His mom was standing outside the door, bouncing Patrick up and down as the sounds of Karen retching bled through the thin walls.

"Ma, quit it, you'll make him puke," he shook his head and grabbed Patrick from her. Patrick seemed all but relieved to be out of her arms, if indeed babies could be relieved about such things. "What's wrong with Karen?"

"Nothing," he heard Karen call from the bathroom.

"Bullshit, nothing!" Kenny shouted and knocked on the door. "Karen, what's wrong?"

"Goddamn, Kenny, nothing's wrong," Karen snapped over the sound of the toilet flushing.

"Yeah, right," Carol nodded. "With our luck she's probably pregnant."

"Ma, come the fuck on!" Kenny yelped and held Patrick close to him.

"I'm just sayin'," Carol put her hands up. "I ain't seen any of them colorful little tampon wrappers in that trash can in an awful long time."

"Oh, fucking gross," Kenny wrinkled his nose. "And ma, you don't go through our trash, do you?"

If she did, then she most definitely knew what had been going on between him and Butters.

"Jesus, would everyone just calm the fuck down?" Karen asked and opened the door. She was looking awfully pale again, and had chosen an old oversized sweater and some ripped denim shorts as her party attire. She staved off any questions by grabbing Patrick out of Kenny's arms and kissing him on the forehead.

"Aw, Karen, come the fuck on!" Kenny snatched Patrick out of her arms. "Who the fuck knows what you've been puking up. For all I know you have bird flu or some shit."

"Which would explain why I'm standing up," Karen extended her arms in presentation of herself. "I'm not sick, I probably just ate something funky."

"A rotten bun in your oven, maybe?" Carol suggested. Kenny rolled his eyes and moved into the tiny bathroom—if it weren't so objectionable to be talking about his baby sister like she was just some walking talking baby machine, he would've laughed. Say what you wanted about Carol McCormick, Kenny got his humor from somewhere. He grabbed a washcloth out of the dingy little cupboard above the toilet, and moistened it under the freezing tap.

"Good one, mom," Karen groaned. "You guys are fucking insane."

"Hey, that's no way for a young lady to talk!" Carol called after her, but Karen was already down the stairs.

Kenny looked at his mom for a few moments before she folded her arms and shook her head and looked back at Kenny like he was the only other sane person in the world. He wasn't so sure he wanted that title bestowed upon him by his mother of all people, so he just went about his business and started trying to dab the germs off of his son's forehead.

"If she ain't pregnant, then I'm disinfecting this whole house," she said, "because this has been goin' on for the last week."

"She's been like this a week?" Kenny exclaimed.

"I told you," Carol shrugged. "Pregnant."

"She's not pregnant," Kenny groaned. "She's nineteen, for fuck's sake."

"Not everyone has babies as late as you," Carol shook her head and shrugged.

"Ma, I'm not even twenty-two!" Kenny cried, eyebrows knitted together in complete and utter horror.

"Aw, it's okay," she patted him on the shoulder. "You were a late bloomer. Don't know how—practically had a collection of dirty magazines the size of your father's by the time you were thirteen. I guess the world has its ways though, don't it?"

"You… you know people usually are at _least_ in their forties by the time they have grandkids, right?" Kenny asked. "Let alone before they can boast having four of them."

"Aw, what's the point of havin' grandkids if you're too old to chase 'em around?" Carol dismissed and moved forward to pinch at Patrick's cheek. There was then a knock on the door jamb, rough and heavy, that could've only meant one thing.

"Hey, Kenny."

"Hey, dad," Kenny gave a half-hearted smile in greeting. Patrick seemed just about as keen on seeing his grandpa as Kenny did, only with slightly less tact. He started crying not two seconds after Stuart had appeared in the doorway, which only made the older man shake his head.

"What the hell is it with this kid?" he asked. Kenny heard the very distinct voice of Leopold Stotch say somewhere in the back of his head "He knew trucker caps fell out of style years ago" and fought a smile.

"He didn't sleep last night," Kenny shrugged. "And then Karen puked and tried to hold him, so… y'know."

"Karen's pregnant," Carol nodded.

"Dude, she is not," Kenny gave a laugh. "Gross."

"Hey, did she tell you that the truck's in the shop?" Stuart asked, looking not at all amused by his son or his wife's comments. He and Kevin were of the same Working Man's School of Stoicism and Assholery; blessedly, Kenny had never gotten his owl post letter for that club.

"Yeah," he sighed in response, knowing full well what was coming.

"Do you think you could help us out?" he asked. "We're a little short this month and—"

"Aw, Jesus Christ, Stuart!" Carol socked him on the shoulder.

"What?" Stuart scowled and shoved her back.

"You don't go around askin' your goddamned kids for handouts, asshole!" she snapped.

"It's not like he doesn't have the money," Stuart pointed out, making a wide gesture to Kenny. "He came back from his little sabbatical to Mexico with a fuckton of extra cash."

"That don't mean it's any of ours to take!"

"Goddamn it!" Kenny shouted. "A. Brazil, dad. I went to fucking Brazil. It's an entirely different country on an entirely different continent where they speak an _entirely _different language. B. I'm not going to help you with your fucking truck because you probably fucked up and put diesel in it _again_ because _god forbid_ you go anywhere without a fucking 40 surging through you at all times. And C. I used all of my money to buy a house, so. We're all shit out of luck there, aren't we?"

"Kenny—"

"No, mom," Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Just… Take Patrick, okay. I'm going to my room."

"Hey, it's not your room anymore if you have your own goddamn house," Stuart said as Kenny pushed past him and walked across the hall to his old room.

"It is if you're going to be a total fuckhole about it," he said and slammed the door behind him. He couldn't… he just couldn't right now. He flopped down on his old bed, all sunken in the middle and softer than an octogenarian's cock. The sheets didn't puff up with dust, which meant that his mom had probably had it out with his dad recently and had slept in his room not too long ago. Fantastic.

Fuck, he hoped his nieces hadn't heard him. Although, who was he kidding—this house was so shitty you could hear the rats fucking in the walls. He lay there, lifeless for a few seconds, before a few soft knocks sounded on the door.

"Give me a minute," he replied, steeling himself to go back downstairs and put on a happy face for the girls.  
>"Ken? I-it's me."<p>

Kenny shot up.

Butters. Oh, fuck. He'd forgotten about Butters. Now he prayed to _God_ no one had heard him. What if Butters had heard that bit about Brazil?

Fuck, Kenny did _not_ want to talk about Brazil.

"Come in?"

Butters opened and shut the door softly and padded over to Kenny with an empathetic smile on his face. For a moment, Kenny kind of wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, to tell him to go back to his parents' nice house with their nice stuff and their cat.

"I'm here to fulfill my duty," Butters said softly. "I'm assumin' you brought me along in case this kinda thing happened? Unless you thought it would just be a fun thing."

"No, this is pretty much what I expected," Kenny sighed and ran his hands over his face. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Well, I was busy tellin' your nieces about The Nutcracker when it happened," Butters shrugged as he sat on the bed beside Kenny. "Kept talkin' to 'em 'til your parents came downstairs an' now here I am."

"They didn't hear?" Kenny asked. Butters just shrugged again.

"If they did they didn't say nothin'," he said. "A-are you all right?"

Kenny just sighed and shook his head, but didn't make a move to actually talk about it. Again, talking was not his MO right now. Talking would come later, either when hell froze over or he was very, very drunk.

"You want me to say anything?" Butters asked, voice soft again. Kenny shook his head again, running the ball of his tongue ring over the roof of his mouth. He even clicked it against his teeth a few times, which, okay, maybe wasn't the best habit to fall back into, but it made him feel so much better it was almost sick.

He felt Butters stretch out beside him on the bed and press himself warmly against his side. He supposed it was just residual from high school, that physicality was the only proper way Butters could think to comfort him. Okay, Kenny may have had to tread cautiously, but he definitely wouldn't have said no to another kiss or something, just to calm his nerves.

"You wanna suck me off?"

"God, yeah," Kenny found himself replying before he could even process the gravity behind the question. Not that he would have been able to anyway, with the way Butters tilted his head and smashed their lips together. Kenny let a harsh breath escape out through his nose. Goddamn, why was kissing Butters so fucking incredible? They weren't even using their tongues and Kenny was already sporting a semi down south.

Or, he just hadn't fucked anything with a pulse in half a year.

Come to think of it, that was probably it.

Kenny rolled on top of Butters and cupped his jaw in his hands, sliding his tongue between his lips and teasing the ball of his ring over the roof of his mouth. Butters whimpered and, fuck, the sound went right to Kenny's dick. He'd missed all those sounds Butters made, could probably recall every single one if given enough time.

He ran his fingers lightly up Butters' sides, dipped his fingers underneath the soft fabric of his yellow t-shirt, and pushed the garment further up his body. He kissed along Butters' jaw, down his neck, licking and nipping along the way and trying to recall every single hotspot he could until he remembered that most of those were on Butters' stomach. Kenny brought his thumbs up to rub teasing circles over Butters' nipples, only to stop when he felt something… felt it.

"Fuck, Leopold, if you tell me you got your tits pierced without me, I'm gonna fucking lose it," he breathed.

"I-it's just the one," Butters panted. "My ex-b—a-a friend dared me to a-after a party one night in freshman year."

"That's a big commitment," Kenny bent down and took the ring in between his teeth.

"It was—ah!" Butters laughed when Kenny gave it a tug. "It was a _lot_ of tequila."

Kenny snorted and went back to work. He could fuck around with that nipple ring later, and in fact was already formulating new and exciting ways to incapacitate Butters with just that ring and a vibrator alone. God, they'd just gotten some really good ones in at work the other day that would've been perfect.

Alas, that was all for another time.

Kenny instead made quick work of Butters' button and zipper, pulling his jeans down around his knees and pausing as he came to a rather ridiculous pair of Mickey Mouse boxer briefs.

"Can I get rid of these?" he asked. "I can't do this with him looking at me." He looked down into Mickey's disapproving black button eyes, only to breathe a sigh of relief when Butters laughed and pushed them down and off his hips for him.

And there he was. Kenny had sucked a lot of dick in his day, and eaten more pussy than most men probably would in a lifetime, but there was just something about Butters' dick that made him want to pound his fists into the ground and grunt like he'd been raised by a family of apes in the fucking wild. He refused to let himself believe that most of his fascination came with the fact that it was, indeed, attached to Butters.

"Y'okay?" Butters asked softly. Kenny nodded and, without preamble, leaned forward and flicked his tongue ring over the very base of his cock. Butters grabbed a pillow from beside his head and covered his face. Underneath there, Kenny could hear the distinct sounds of stifled moans as he mouthed his way up Butters' erection, flicking his ring over the very tip and relishing in the keening moan Butters let slip.

Then Kenny dipped down and sucked the head of him into his mouth, taking the rest of him in inch by inch, until Butters was writhing and fisting his hands in his hair, begging him for more. Jesus Christ, Kenny had missed this—not just the sex (because come on, of course he'd missed that), but Butters being so… Butters. He'd secretly been holding onto the hope that college had changed Butters enough to make him unappealing.

"Fuck," Butters groaned as Kenny gave a long, hard suck upward. There was nothing about this guy that could possibly be unappealing. There was nothing this guy could say or do that would make Kenny not want to get down on his knees and suck. It would've been frightening if the way he fucked up into Kenny's mouth wasn't so mind-blowingly hot.

Kenny grabbed onto Butters' hips and started bobbing his head in a somewhat regular rhythm, humming every once in a while because it made Butters tug on his hair and whine like he was dying the most pleasurable death known to human kind. When Butters started whimpering and bucking up, when the muscles in his legs started twitching and his breath caught in the top of his lungs, Kenny pulled off of him almost entirely and sucked on the head of his cock.

"Aw, jeez," Butters whined. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"

Kenny knew he probably shouldn't have been so keen on having someone come in his mouth, but it was sort of his favorite part. He loved the strangled cry that tore out of Butters' throat, the way his hips twitched up, the way he threw his head back and exposed the long column on his neck.

Fuck, Kenny could've filled a book with the things he'd missed about this guy. One thing of which was the fact that Butters was not opposed to kissing after someone had just gone down on him. Another was the way he laughed when he found out that Kenny hadn't swallowed all of his come, and had in fact saved just enough to swap back into his mouth.

"You asshole," Butters pulled a face and wiped at his mouth and looked at Kenny with something indeterminate behind his eyes. Kenny smirked back and started unbuttoning his pants, all ready to give himself a quick jerk and be done with it when Butters batted his hand away and took over.

"You wanna fuck me?" Butters asked as he gripped Kenny loosely in his hand and started moving at a maddeningly slow pace. Kenny let out an embarrassingly loud groan and let his head fall back.

"I don't," he breathed. "_Fuck, _I don't have anything with me."

"Seriously?" Butters raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Jeez, you must've been outta commission for way longer than I thought."

Kenny was just about to retort when Butters flashed him a cheeky grin, then ducked down and took him into his mouth.

Fuck, Butters was good at giving head. He'd always been good at it, but Kenny felt it was one of those things that was worth being mentioned. He ran his fingers through Butters' hair and thrust up shallowly, already teetering on the brink of coming way too quickly, when there was a sudden loud commotion downstairs.

"Shit," Kenny muttered, giving Butters' hair a sharp tug. "Shit, baby, I've gotta—"

But Butters wasn't going to let him go. In the midst of what was now a rather heated shouting match downstairs, Kenny came with a yelp right into Butters' mouth, praying to god everyone was too distracted to notice steady stream of dirty swears pouring out of his mouth.

"Fuckin' dick," Kenny breathed, wanting more than anything to collapse onto the bed and just hold Butters against him for a few moments. Instead, they both made quick work of tucking themselves back into their pants over the cacophony of shouts sounding downstairs.

"Who's got Patrick?" Kenny asked as he and Butters ran out of the room and down the hall.

"Uh, your mom I think," Butters replied. If that was Carol McCormick shouting at the top of her lungs, she better fucking well not have been. They both ran downstairs to see Karen sitting on the couch, with her face in her hands as Carol shouted herself red in the face. Stuart was leaning on the doorway to the kitchen, pounding back a beer, while the girls sat huddled in a corner.

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" Kenny snapped. Butters stepped out from behind him and started walking over to the girls.

"Come on, gals," he said and opened the front door, making sure they had their shoes on before they stepped outside. "Who wants to go get some ice cream?"

Butters looked back at Kenny and gave him a little smile. It felt kind of like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, having Butters with him. It would've been even nicer if his mom hadn't started yelling at Karen again. Kevin came up beside him, Patrick in his arms and looking all too apprehensive, and shook his head.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Kenny snapped and pulled Patrick into his arms.

"I didn't think you'd want mom holding him," Kevin shrugged. "Karen got knocked up."

"For fuck's sake," Kenny rolled his eyes and walked over to Karen and his mom. "Mom, will you lay off her with this shit? It's not fucking funny."

"You ask her yourself," Carol snarled, furious. "You look that slut in the eye and you fuckin' ask her."

"Don't call her a slut!" Kenny shouted, and Kevin came right back over and grabbed Patrick from him, taking him out of the kine of fire. "Kevin, leave my fucking kid alone. And fuckin' A, ma, I'm not gonna ask her that 'cause she's fucking not."

"Kenny—"

"And even if she was," Kenny continued, looking from his mom to his dad and to Kevin, "she's nineteen, which is two years older than any of the three of you, so you have no fucking _right_ yelling at her."

"Kenny—"

"Oh, you think you're better than all of us, right?" Carol asked, shaking her head. "What the hell's gonna happen to us with another kid to feed around here? We can't even support ourselves, and all you're worried about is that she's nineteen. Shouldn't be surprised. You always were a superior little shit."

"Superior?" Kenny laughed. "Because I didn't get anyone _pregnant_ when I was seventeen? Are you all listening to yourselves?"

"Maybe if you didn't spend so much time fucking guys you'd have gotten to it sooner," Kevin snorted. Suddenly all eyes were on Kenny, his mom and dad looking at him with the utmost looks of disgust on their faces.

"Kevin, what the fuck!"

It was Karen that time. She was on her feet now, in front of Kenny, moving to the center of the little circle everyone had formed around the room.

"I'm pregnant!" she shouted. "All right? That's what this is about. It's not about how much dick Kenny sucked when he was in high school—" a sentiment that was met with the collective groans of the remaining three people in the house "—this is about the fact that I'm pregnant, right? I got knocked up. How about, instead of worrying about how this is going to affect your lives, you think about how it's going to affect me? How about you all stop thinking about yourselves for two seconds and take a minute to think about how I feel?"

"Great, now we're gonna have another hormonal bitch in this house," Stuart groaned.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Karen rolled her eyes. "Fuck all of this, fuck all of you, I'm out."

"Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" Carol asked, following Karen out the front door.

"I'm going to my fucking boyfriend's house," Karen turned and snapped, absolutely livid. "When all four of you are ready to stop being dickholes, you give me a fucking call."

Kenny watched as Karen stalked off down the street, hands in her pockets and quite possibly muttering very loudly to herself about how she hoped she was adopted or something. Kenny wouldn't blame her; he'd always held onto the glimmer of hope that he'd been adopted, that somewhere out there his completely normal family was missing him and wondering where he'd gone off to.

"So, what's this about you being a fag?" came Stuart's monotone, followed closely by a long sip of beer.

"Are you shitting me?" Kenny rolled his eyes and grabbed Patrick from Kevin again.

"He got it from that fag he brought today," Kevin snorted.

"What the _fuck_ did I tell you about calling him that, asshole?" Kenny whipped around.

"Ugh, that faggot left with my kids," Kevin wrinkled his nose, just trying to get a rise out of his brother now. "He's not the one of the ones who touches little girls, right? Just the boys?"

"Aw, shut the fuck up, Kevin," Carol rolled her eyes and smacked him upside the head. One by one, they all retreated back into the house. Kenny sat on the stoop for a little longer, his son in his lap and eyes on the lookout for Butters.

He appeared twenty minutes later, chatting excitedly with the girls about something or other all the way up to the stoop. Madison and Ashley attacked Kenny from either side, both with rings of ice cream around their smiling mouths. Butters was holding Olivia, who was close to falling asleep on his shoulder.

"All right, all right," Kenny laughed, "no touching your cousin with sticky hands. Go wash up and tell your dad you're not dead."

Butters smiled and set Olivia down so that she could follow her sisters, then took a seat beside Kenny and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"You okay, darlin'?" he asked softly.

"My baby sister is pregnant," Kenny replied, feeling just a little empty inside. He felt Butters tense a little against him, but took his lack of verbal response as a cue to continue. "She got super pissed at all of us and left. The worst fucking part about it is that I didn't even know she was seeing anyone. I don't even know who did this to her."

"I think maybe that's best," Butters said. "Especially if you're gonna say it all accusatively like that."

"Whoever it is deserves to be punished," Kenny scowled.

"Just remember," Butters kissed him on the temple. "Somewhere someone once said that about you."


	8. Chapter 7

As you can see, I'm trying to get** as much** of this story written **as possible** before I have to go** back to school** next week. Luckily, I have been trained to write **obscene** amounts in **short** periods of time.

**Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing**. You are **awesome** and I genuinely **enjoy** and adore every last one of you. Hugs.

* * *

><p><em>"I just… I can't do anything serious right now, okay? Patrick's my number one priority, and I have to focus on him."<em>

Kenny had been saying that nonstop all week, approximately after each time he and Butters had given each other hurried hand jobs on the couch or done some other sexual act that Kenny had deemed casual enough to satisfy without demanding an emotional commitment.

Unfortunately, leaving massive hickeys had mysteriously made it onto the list of appropriate acts and so Butters had spent the better part of the hottest Wednesday of his life in a suit jacket and an old wool turtleneck, looking like a complete douche bag. Even Karen, who had been sulky and unresponsive since her mom's party, couldn't resist the urge to mock the ever-loving crap out of him.

"Oh, my god," she'd laughed the second Butters had entered the diner and sat down at the counter.

"Go ahead," Butters rolled his eyes. "I can take it."

"Did you just get back from chasing down a giant white whale?" Karen asked, filling a mug with coffee and setting it down before him. "Or wait—you just got back from a reading from your newest novel. A period piece? France in the 1940s. Two star-crossed men meet only to discover that theirs is a forbidden love."

"You're awful fuckin' chipper today," Butters said as he emptied a few creamers into his coffee.

"That's because I just realized my pregnancy tits are gonna be enormous," Karen used her free hand to present her chest. "Look at what the fuck I'm already packing a few weeks in. Think of the tips I'm gonna get when my full boobage arrives."

"Hey," Butters raised his mug, laughing. "To the little victories."

"No shit," Karen clinked the entire coffee pot gently before she set it back on its warmer and leaned against the counter. "So what the hell is it with all of this?" She made a vague gesture at Butters' ensemble, which only made Butters roll his eyes and sip at his coffee.

"I had an interview today," he said, and then tucked a finger under the lip of the turtleneck and pulled. "I also have perfect copies of your brother's dental records on my neck."

"No fucking way," Karen laughed and lunged forward to check the marks for herself. "You little sluts, the both of you. And what gives, I thought you had an interview last week."

"I did," Butters nodded and ran a hand over his face. "Same company, only now I gotta go up an' impress every last person in that office before they decide to hire me."

"And no one said anything about you dressing like an asshole?" Karen raised an eyebrow.

"I guess I'm enough of a fag that I can pull it off," Butters snorted and ran his fingers over the lip of his mug before looking up at Karen with an attempted serious look on his face. "You talked to your folks yet?"

"Ugh, shut up," Karen rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking to anyone about anything."

Butters sighed. Karen, in a fit of panic when she'd realized that the mother of her boyfriend was indeed Sheila Broflovski, had taken refuge with the Tuckers. She and Ruby had been best friends since middle school, Karen being fond of Ruby's acerbic wit and creative use of the word 'fuck', and Ruby sort of secretly in love with Karen's cheerful optimism and fondness for brightly colored tights. They were an odd pair to be sure, but Butters had once seen Ruby make to claw another girl's eyes out for calling Karen a piece of trailer trash, and Butters dared anyone to call Ruby a slut in Karen's presence.

"Look," Butters began. "I-I know it ain't exactly my place to get involved in this, but as your friend? A-as your friend, I think it's worth makin' up with at least your mom."

"Bullshit," Karen scoffed. "You just want me to make up with your _lover_."

"He's worried about you!" Butters exclaimed. "Christ, woman, I kept him off your back for a week now. You know how hard that's been? You know the only thing that distracts him is… well."

"_Sex_?" Karen mouthed, nodding like she understood the full extent to which Butters had so nobly suffered for her sake. Butters rolled his eyes.

"Don't be like that," he said. "He misses you."

"I miss him too," Karen shrugged. "But if he's going to be an asshole and give me shit for… all of this," she motioned to her lean, flat belly, "then I'm gonna let him sweat it out a little longer."

"Great," Butters nodded. "Hopefully he'll leave a butt plug in my ass in time for my next interview."

"Well," Karen pursed her lips. "That's more than I ever wanted to know."

Butters raised his mug again and gave her a little wink, at which point she rolled her eyes and went to check on another customer. Butters kept nursing his coffee, looking around at the kitschy décor and even successfully putting the fact that he was so fucking hot out of his mind for a few seconds before the door jingled and someone came in to sit at the counter a few seats down.

It was Ike, looking about as tired and worn out as ever.

Butters pursed his lips and looked around at the otherwise deserted diner. He didn't really know Ike very well, and after their little confrontation in the grocery store Butters had been a little reticent about trying to talk to him again. Not that their own lives offered opportunities for much interaction between the two of them—the only things they had in common were Kenny, and now Karen. Butters probably should have just tossed back the rest of his coffee and been done with it, should've driven home and taken a cold shower to get his body temperature back down to a normal, human level.

Instead, Butters picked up his coffee and moved down a few seats, giving a bright and endearing smile when Ike looked over at him. Ike just grimaced in response.

"Here to tell me I'm being an idiot again?" he asked.

"Not in so many words," Butters said. "How are you?"

Ike frowned and looked over at him.

"I'm so fucking fabulous I'm pissing glitter," he grimaced. "How the fuck do you think I am?"

"Just figured I'd try to make polite conversation," Butters shrugged. "No need to bite my head off."

"Hey, Ike," Karen said as she approached them both. "I thought you were at work."

"I fell asleep in the freezer," Ike yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "My boss sent me home."

"Shit," Karen said. "Was she pissed?"

"Yeah, but," Ike shrugged. "She knows my mom'll lose her shit all over this fucking town if I get fired, so. She told me to go home and sleep."

"And you came here," Karen clarified, sounding a little irritated.

"Because I wanted to see how you were doing," Ike yawned again, bigger this time. "You need anything? I'll go back to work and pick you up anything you want. I'm probably gonna pick up some coffee and try to knock out another chapter tonight."

Karen gave him a soft little smile and put a hand on his cheek, and Butters would've thought it was kind of cute if Ike didn't look so pitiful.

"Honey, all I want you to do is go home and sleep," she said and leaned in to kiss him. Butters kind of felt like he was intruding again just by being there, even if he turned his head and pretended not to watch. He figured they probably weren't ones for public displays of affection, especially since they'd kept their relationship so tightly under wraps, but Butters couldn't help but think they looked sort of sweet.

Even if they were straight.

"You don't need anything?" Ike asked softly as Karen pulled back. Karen shook her head and gave him one last kiss on the forehead.

"Butters, do you think you could take Ike home?" she asked.

"I'm fine to drive," Ike muttered and rested his forehead head on the counter.

"Honey, you didn't even notice my boobs," Karen said very frankly.

"Honk-honk," Ike said and made squeezing motions with his hands. Butters snorted and gave Ike a pat on the back.

"All right," he said. "Let's get you home."

"No," Ike whined. "I wanna motorboat my girlfriend's massive cans."

A few minutes full of Ike waxing poetic about Karen's new chest, coupled with the combined strength of Karen and Butters, Ike made it into the passenger seat of Butters' car. Karen gave him another kiss before her boss came out and told her to get back inside. Ike, thankfully, had fallen asleep before Butters could even start the car. He drove back to the Broflovski house, humming quietly to himself as Ike started to snore softly on the other side of the car. Fuck, if he was this tired now, how was he going to manage a kid? Kenny was one of the most resilient people Butters knew, and he was struggling like crazy.

What Butters didn't quite expect to see was Kenny's crappy little car parked in the Broflovski driveway, nor Kenny and Kyle sitting out on the stoop with Patrick on Kyle's lap and Kenny looking to be deep in conversation.

_Shit_. Maybe if Butters just kept rolling on by, Kenny and Kyle wouldn't notice anything. He'd take Ike back to his house to sleep it off until he could make a safe drop-off. Yes, it was the perfect plan.

Except Ike's face was pressed against the glass and Kenny and Kyle had already seen them. Fantastic. Butters came to a rather harsh stop and snorted a little when Ike flew forward and jerked awake.

"Hey, we're here," Butters said. "Kyle and Kenny are sitting outside."

"Do they see us?" Ike asked, blearily looking around the car to see if, indeed, Kyle or Kenny had snuck in without their knowledge.

"Yeah," Butters nodded. "Look, I don't want Kenny beatin' your ass anymore than you do—"

"So keep the fuck quiet," Ike grunted and unbuckled himself. "And don't be a douche. Kyle already kind of hates you."

Butters nodded, all ready to put this into effect until Ike's actual words registered with him.

"Wait, what?" he asked, scrambling out of the car to follow Ike. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Aw, man," Ike groaned and tried to keep a reasonable distance from Butters. "Dude, I've got my own fucking problems. Why should I give a shit if Kyle thinks you're an insensitive wad?"

"Why would he think that?" Butters asked, softer now that they were getting a little closer to Kenny and Kyle, who'd since ceased their conversation and were now gazing curiously upon the sight before them.

"Dude, he's just really fucking protective of Kenny," Ike shook his head. "I don't know why. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a bottle of adderall and a rough chapter outline to attend to."

Ike pushed past Kenny and Kyle and into the house without another word. This left Butters standing a few paces before the steps, still in this douchebag turtleneck and jacket, rubbing his knuckles together and giving a little nervous laugh. Kenny's eyebrows were in his hairline, while Kyle just looked on rather scathingly.

"Are you writing a sequel to _On the Road_?" Kenny laughed. Kyle snorted and bounced Patrick on his knee.

"Ha-ha," Butters stuck out his tongue. Kenny smiled and stuck his tongue out right back. Butters swallowed, his mouth going dry as he saw Kenny's old Batman barbell resting tantalizingly on his tongue. Kevin had stolen it from work and given it to Kenny, mostly so he could say he'd once done something for his younger brother (other than make him feel like complete shit).

"Why are you dressed like you're carrying a collection old leather-bound books up your ass?" Kyle asked.

"I had a thing," Butters said, nodding very insistently. "I had a thing I had to go to and all my collared shirts were… dirty."

"I know you have a hickey on your neck, 'tard," Kyle deadpanned.

"Oh," Butters wilted. "O-okay, then."

Kenny punched Kyle in the leg, saying something along the lines of 'don't be a dick', before he turned his sights back on Butters and looked him up and down again.

"You had 'a thing'?" he asked. "What kind of 'thing'?"

"My-my mom's friend's kid was having a piano recital, a-an' I said I'd go," Butters gave a smile. Kenny and Kyle just stared at him for a few seconds, blinking in almost perfect unison as Butters started sweating even more under the thick fabric.

"What were you doing with Ike?" Kyle asked.

"Saw him at the store," Butters supplied. "Said he wasn't feelin' too well so I gave him a ride home."

"You two've been seeing a lot of each other lately," Kenny commented, eyes going a little narrow as he regarded Butters thoughtfully. Shit. Butters knew it was impossible, but he cleared his head anyway just in case Kenny fulfilled one of Butters' darkest fears and had actually gained the capability to read minds.

"It's a small town," Butters just shrugged and looked at Patrick, who was now trying to squirm out of Kyle's arms in an attempt to get to Butters. Butters ducked down, daring to make brief eye-contact with Kyle, before he grabbed Patrick and gave him happy little hello. Patrick giggled and tucked his face into Butters chest.

"He was totally bummed when he found out you weren't hanging out with us today," Kenny said with a fond smile on his face. Butters took note of how Kyle looked at Kenny a little like he was welcoming Adolph Hitler back into civilized society.

"Kenny, I don't think babies can be bummed about that," Butters laughed as Patrick stuck his thumb in his mouth.

"Well, I was bummed then," Kenny shrugged and stood. "Hung out with Kyle instead."

"Love knowing that I'm so high up on your list of priorities," Kyle rolled his eyes and stood up too. "Now that you two have been reunited, I'm going to go flush the rest of Ike's adderall and make him sleep."

"All right, I'll see you later, dude," Kenny said and pulled him into a hug. Butters bit back a smile—Kyle Broflovski never looked comfortable when receiving hugs.

"Yeah, dude," he said, pulling away. "And remember what we talked about, okay?"

"I will, don't worry," Kenny gave a happy little smile—happier than Butters had seen him smile in the few weeks he'd been around. The moment Kyle shut the door behind him, Kenny turned and plucked Patrick from Butters' arms, pressing a big kiss to his chubby cheek before he started walking back to his car. Butters took a second before he shook his head and ran to catch up with him.

"Hey, did I piss him off or somethin'?" he asked. Kenny looked back, eyebrows high on his forehead as he looked from Butters to the house and back again.

"Who, Kyle?" he asked and gave a little laugh. "Dude, he's Kyle. He's pissed at everything."

"Yeah, but," Butters drummed his fingers on the hood of Kenny's car, "I dunno, I feel like that was a little more malicious than usual."

Kenny looked at Butters for a second, another calculating look on his face, and ducked down to buckle Patrick into his car seat. He appeared to whisper a few things to Patrick before he shut the door and looked at Butters with a far off smile on his face.

"You care?"

"Of course I care," Butters gave a laugh. "I wanna know if I did anything wrong."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Kenny smiled. "You wanna come back to my place? We got a new shipment of DVDs in yesterday and I brought home a few that I think you'll find particularly interesting."

"Aw gee, Ken," Butters fiddled with his fingers and mashed his knuckles together. "I-I really just wanna go home an' get the heck outta these clothes."

"That could be arranged anywhere," Kenny pointed out and tossed him a smile. Butters found himself smiling back, because Kenny never smiled like that anymore, all crinkly-eyed and toothy. It made Butters bite his lip and roll his eyes and try not to smile.

"All right, I guess," he said and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Come to my house, though? I wanna shower. Oh, a-an' I got some of that frozen pizza you like so much."

"Red Baron?"

Butters nodded.

"Fuck, that shit's delicious," Kenny knocked on the hood of the car. "Okay, I'll meet you there. I'm gonna go get a few things first, though."

Butters sped all the way back to his house and, after leaving the door unlocked just in case Kenny got there sooner than expected, ran upstairs to hop in the shower. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped underneath the cool spray of the water and let it run down his hot, itchy skin. That was the last time he ever attempted to hide a hickey without make-up; he'd just swallow his pride next time, because nearly stifling himself to death hadn't worked at all. With any luck, the higher ups at that damn company wouldn't think he was a total weirdo… maybe just a snappy young fellow who was seriously misinformed about how fucking hot it was going to be today.

Butters stepped out of the shower and ran down the hall to his room, scrubbing his towel through his hair and patting himself dry along the way so he could dress himself in the most efficient manner possible. He pulled on his undies, plain and simple this time, and then a pair of jeans he hadn't worn since the eleventh grade, which, while they technically still fit, were a little tight around his ass. A plain white shirt to top it all off and Butters went to look in his mirror. He looked like a man possessed. Why the hell did he care so much about what Kenny thought, especially if this wasn't even anything to be worrying about? This was casual.

They were casual. For God's sake, they weren't even fucking good and proper yet.

Wait, 'yet?' Who said anything about 'yet'?

"All right, Leopold, you listen to me, mister," he told his reflection very sternly. "You pull yourself together. This guy's seen you naked before, he's shoved a vibrator in your ass… he's even fucked you with the lights on before. Don't. Overreact."

Hey, it may have sounded crazy, but sometimes giving oneself a peptalk was the only way to get through a stressful situation. He heard the door open and shut and reminded himself that it wasn't good manners to run around the house like a lunatic in the presence of company. He took a deep breath and, just when he was about to go down stairs at the pace of a normal human being, Kenny opened his door, Patrick against his chest, and grinned.

"Jesus," he said, looking Butters up and down. "Jesus, dude, you look fucking hot."

Butters felt himself color at that. He remembered being around his exes, around guys in L.A. in general, and none of them had appreciated Butters at his snazziest, at is most fashionable, as much as Kenny did when he was in just jeans and a t-shirt. Whether or not there was anything to be said for that was a nonissue. Butters just liked—_loved_—that he could get Kenny to look at him like that.

"I, uh," Kenny began, "I fed him at home, so he's kind of starting to drift. Can I put him on your bed?"

"Yeah, of course," Butters nodded, and immediately began to tidy the dirty clothes off of his floor, straighten his pillows, and do just about everything that Kenny deemed to make him a, quote, "neurotic little shit". This, of course, had been when they were seventeen and ergo before Kenny had turned into the world's biggest head case.

"Can you—" Kenny faltered again. "I mean, you're the only one who can really get him to sleep. I'll go put the pizza in the oven if you want, but he'll just start bawling if I stayed up here."

"Yeah, no problem," Butters nodded and stretched out beside Patrick on the bed. Kenny gave him a smile and ducked out of the room. Meanwhile, Butters took to playing with the fine hair on Patrick's head and waiting for his breathing to even out. Patrick was focused on him, though, and Butters couldn't help his smile.

"Still givin' your dad a hard time?" he asked. "Tell you what, I'm just as much in favor of rilin' him up as anyone, believe me, but… just give him a break. He's doin' his best."

Patrick made a little noise and looked at Butters like he was a little crazy.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "I told you I was on your side, and I am. But someone's gotta stick up for your dad. He doesn't get that very often. So, I'm gonna be on your team, but we've both gotta start bein' on your dad's team too, okay?"

Patrick just yawned and let his eyes slip shut, which Butters took as as much of an affirmation as he was going to get. He stayed until it was very apparent that Patrick was, indeed, asleep, and then quietly made his way out of the room and down the stairs. Kenny was leaning against the counter, looking at his reflection in a spoon and checking the placement of his tongue ring. Butters smiled.

"You keep puttin' that thing in just for me?" he asked, silently relishing in the fact that Kenny attempted to hide the spoon by throwing it into the sink. Butters moved forward and leaned right next to Kenny, giving him a smile before he captured his lips in his. They'd been fucking around for a week, and Butters _still_ couldn't get over the fact that he could kiss Kenny again.

He hopped up on the counter, laughing like an idiot when his back pocket got caught on the knob of the silverware drawer, or when Kenny went in with a little too much gusto and bumped their noses together. He gave a happy sigh when Kenny ran his fingers up his legs and pushed up under the hem of his shirt, maybe even whimpered a little when he felt those feather-light touches trailing up his sides. He fucking lived for Kenny's hands on him, and didn't exactly know what possessed him to think otherwise.

"Fuck, I'm never gonna get over this," Kenny said and hauled Butters' shirt up under his armpits. Butters smiled—he knew that nipple piercing would pay off some day. If not in this way, than in others. He was a little blonde queer, for fuck's sake: he'd gotten free drinks on Twink Tuesdays at a bar out by his school _and_ had had a litany of boys slipping numbers into his back pockets every time he'd ventured out to a nightclub or bar. It had paid for itself already, but the fact that Kenny enjoyed it so much actually kind of made it worth something now.

For example, it was totally worth it to feel Kenny's tongue ring snag against it when he took it into his mouth. Butters whimpered a bit and fisted a hand into Kenny's hair, all messy and frayed and just begging to be tugged.

"Hey," Kenny said, pulling away suddenly, looking up at Butters with a twinkle in his eyes. "I brought those DVDs. Wanna watch?"

"I think you know the answer to that question," Butters smiled, breathless, only to start laughing when Kenny attempted to run out of the kitchen and succeeded only in slipping on his socks and falling flat on his face. He hopped off of the counter and followed when Kenny picked himself up and got over to his stuff without much more trouble.

"All right," he said, laying a few DVDs out on the coffee table. "I have 'Babysitters 2', 'Island Fever', 'The Garden Party', or 'Malibu Spice'."

"I thought you said these were new," Butters frowned and picked up 'The Garden Party'. All of these looked to be at least five years old. Not that Butters would know anything about these things, mind. He looked at the back of the case and shrugged.

"This one's about aliens or somethin'," he said. "I'd rather watch that than… 'Babysitters 2'. Already got life imitating art on that one."

"Aliens is good," Kenny beamed and grabbed the case from him. "Kinda knew you might pick that one anyway."

Butters laughed a little, already flushed with nerves and anticipation as he sat on the couch. They hadn't done this in forever, and in some ways it was almost more nerve-wracking than actual sex. If something weird as fuck turned you on while you were watching porn, it wasn't exactly like a fella could keep it a secret, you know? Butters had always been hesitant to watch porn with the guys he'd slept with—aside from Kenny, who assured him that, above all else, he would be turned on by the fact that Butters was able to get so hot over something. Indeed, trial and error had proven that, above anything happening on the screen, Kenny's arousal more often than not stemmed from his partner's arousal.

"All right, let's see some freaky alien chicks fuck," Kenny said and flopped down on the couch. Neither of them got very far into it before they were breathing in soft little gasps, cupping themselves through their pants and getting all pink in the face.

"So," Kenny gulped dryly. "So, alien chicks are responsible for the double-headed dildo?"

"I-I think so," Butters replied softly, whining as his head fell back against the couch. He couldn't take it anymore; he undid the fly on his pants and pulled his dick out. Kenny followed suit not too long after, gripping himself and stroking in long, languid movements up his shaft. Butters only caught the sight out of the corner of his eye, and already he was already more interested in what Kenny was doing to himself than anything those gals on screen were doing. Kenny seemed to catch onto this quickly… either that, or he'd been staring at Butters just as hard as Butters had been staring at him. He smiled and leaned in for a kiss. _Jesus_, there was just something about the way Kenny's lips smashed against his, how frantically his tongue moved to tangle with Butters' with that stupid ring gliding slick through his mouth, how the steady rhythm of his arm served to remind Butters exactly of what they were doing.

"Can I?" Butters asked, breathless,, looking down at Kenny's cock, red and leaking, poking in and out of Kenny's fist like the biggest tease on the fucking planet. Kenny just grinned as they both switched places, his hand now working in that all-too familiar, tantalizing rhythm over Butters that made him moan and writhe and want nothing but Kenny all over him at all times.

"Goddamn," he heard Kenny's strangled grunt from beside him. Butters grinned a big dopey grin, because being able to do this to Kenny McCormick of all people would never not be cool. He gave a little extra flick of his wrist, one that he knew would make Kenny throw his head back and whine, to grab the back of the couch with his free hand and squeeze his eyes shut.

"Shit, I wanna fuck you so bad."

Butters stopped moving his hand for a second. Maybe it was a lack of blood to the brain, maybe it was the fact that it had just plain been a long time since Butters had had a good and thorough fucking—whatever it was, something possessed Butters to climb onto Kenny's lap and pull him into a kiss.

"Why don't you, then?" he panted against Kenny's lips, taking advantage of Kenny's open mouth to lick his way inside. Butters kind of hated to admit just how randy this guy made him, hated the fact that Kenny above anyone else could have effectively turned him into a panting, writhing little slut with the snap of his fucking fingers.

"Butters," Kenny replied softly when he pulled back. "Butters, I shouldn't."

"Why not?" Butters asked, licking and kissing his way across Kenny's jaw and down his neck. "'cause it'll be amazing?"

"It's not that," Kenny shook his head, and mouthed "Patrick." Only Butters wasn't buying it. He looked at Kenny like he'd look at one of those optical illusions—a full and obvious picture from far away, but nothing but a mess of confusion up close. At the risk of sounding just a little retarded, Butters kept the observation to himself, but moved in to suck that tender spot under Kenny's ear all the same.

"Then it's gotta be somethin' else," he muttered, kissing his way over to Kenny's pulse point and sucking affectionately. "You're punishing yourself, aren't you? Don't wanna fuck up like your folks did with you, so you're not allowed to have any fun at all?"

Kenny moaned as Butters reached between them and started stroking them both together. Butters huffed out a little laugh as he licked at Kenny's lower lip.

"Know what I think?" he asked. Kenny let out a keening moan in response. "I think it's not meth, or crack, or anythin' like that. It's my ass. 'member my ass? Remember how hot and tight it is? How good it makes you feel?"

Kenny whined again at that and thrust up, so Butters leaned in close again.

"Don't you wanna feel good again, Kenny?" he asked softly against his throat. "Just take the lube and condoms out of your back pocket an' I'll make it all go away."

Butters rolled off of Kenny with a self-satisfied grin as Kenny went to dig through each and every pocket. He smiled when he turned up with a condom and a small packet of lube, at which point neither wasted any time in disrobing. Butters flung his clothes every which way and waited patiently while Kenny pulled off his pants and sweater and all in a clumsy mess. When they were both there, finally naked on the couch, they flew forward to meet each other in a sloppy, heated kiss.

"Okay," Kenny gasped when they pulled away. "Okay, turn around. Over the arm rest."

Butters gave a little laugh, because this was his Kenny. The 'cut the crap, let's fuck' horndog with a heart of gold that Butters had fallen for when they'd been younger. He did as he was told and let out a groan of complete and utter euphoria when he felt one of Kenny's slick digits push into him, followed soon by another. He found himself hoping that he was as hot and as Kenny remembered, despite the fact that he knew Kenny would be appreciative of whatever Butters had to offer.

And, in true Kenny fashion, he seemed to have remembered the exact location of Butters' prostate, hitting it with as much ease as you'd expect a seasoned musician to hit a note after they hadn't played for a few years.

"Tell me," Kenny gulped. "Tell me when you're ready."

"Now," Butters replied almost immediately after. "Now, please."

He waited patiently, ass in the air, as Kenny retracted his fingers and rustled around a bit behind him. Butters moaned and sucked in a breath when he felt Kenny pressing against him. Fuck, now he felt like he was home again.

"You good?" Kenny breathed. Butters nodded and screwed his eyes shut as Kenny, hot and thick, pushed all the way inside him. He went slowly at first, allowing Butters time to adjust to the feeling of being so full up again, until both of them were so far gone that they couldn't even form words anymore, until they were reduced to nothing more than a grunting, slapping mass of flesh. Butters couldn't help but think that, yeah, something like this would've been ideal at school. Because Butters could fuck every last man and woman on earth and no one would ever beat Kenny McCormick. No one would pull his hair just to expose his neck like that, just to have an excuse to suck and bite at the exposed flesh. No one else would reach around to the front of him and give his nipple ring a harsh tug before he even thought about paying attention to his cock.

Butters had thought it before, and he'd probably think it for the rest of his life: getting your ass fucked was amazing, but to have Kenny McCormick doing it was fucking Nirvana.

"Butters! Just what do you think you're doing, young man?"

Kenny and Butters flew apart almost instantly and rolled off of the couch. Good God, had they been so engrossed in each other that neither had heard a car pull up outside, why they hadn't heard the keys drop just outside the door or the steady stream of curses when it was realized that the door was indeed unlocked? Butters poked his head up and over the back of the couch to see both of his parents standing stock still, his father beet red and his mother white as a sheet.

"He-hey, mom and dad," Butters gave a nervous little laugh. "Ha-has it been a month already?"

"Butters you stand up this instant!"

Butters looked from his mom to his dad and then back again.

"No, that's okay," he said. "I-I think I'll stay down here."

"Butters, you listen to your father," his mother reprimanded. Butters felt his cheeks turn bright red, because, of all the things, of course this had to happen. He moved to stand, only for Kenny to prod him in the shoulder and hand him one of his mom's ridiculous throwpillows. Butters gave him a tense little smile before he stood, pillow held securely over his now wilting erection.

"The both of you!" his mother snapped. "If you're going to do _that_ in my house, on _my _couch, the least you could do is say 'hello'."

Butters looked down at Kenny, who was laughing—_laughing,_ for God's sake—and nudged him with his foot. Kenny grabbed another pillow off of the couch and Butters rolled his eyes as he stood. Of course he was still kind of hard. Because he was Kenny, and _of course he was_.

"Oh, the McCormick boy, Butters?" his dad asked, grimacing like he could've dealt with his son fucking any other man on the face of the planet except for the one next to him. Butters felt his gut stir with an old, familiar fire.

"Kenny, yeah," he nodded, "He's got a name, y'know."

"Sweetheart, what is that on your chest!"

"Gosh, I-I really don't wanna talk about this right now, mom," Butters rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Oh, we're talking about it, mister," she looked livid. "What did you do to your—your—"

"Tit?" Kenny supplied unhelpfully. Butters elbowed him in the ribs.

"Oh, for Pete's—what is going on on the TV?" his dad chimed in and moved to investiage.

"Porn?" Kenny answered again.

"You're in no position to be giving us any lip," Linda snapped. "Don't you have a baby?"

"That's a moot point," Butters found himself answering, which only made Kenny laugh and his mother look at him not unlike the way in which he'd expect her to look at an alien. Butters just shifted his weight and sighed. He was going to have a mad case of blue balls if he didn't get to come soon, and obviously that was cutting off the flow of oxygen to his brain.

"Butters, don't strike that tone with me," his mother shook her head. "Do you realize what we just walked in on?"

"I do," Butters nodded, completely ignoring how hard Kennywas laughing still. It was probably nerves, because Kenny would never really find such an unfortunate situation amusing, right? Right. Linda seemed to notice this too, and turned to Kenny with what she probably thought was a sympathetic smile but was in fact a grimace to end all grimaces.

"I think it's about time you left," she said.

"I'm comin' with you," Butters said and began grabbing every article of clothing nearest him. Kenny, though aparently confused, did the same. Replacing their pillows with piles of clothing, Butters and Kenny both walked up the stairs and into Butters' room.

They dressed in silence, Kenny leaving the condom rather obviously on top of the waste in Butters' trash can, just in case Linda decided to get nosy. Butters loaded up his backpack with his laptop and a good portion of his DVDs, and a few changes of clothes while Kenny went to rouse Patrick. They looked at each other, Butters with a bag over his shoulder and Kenny with a baby fast asleep on his chest, and moved to kiss each other at the same time.

"Are you opposed to finishing when we get back to my house?" Kenny asked, head bowed and eyes shut like he was asking the gravest of questions. Butters kissed him again, tongue teasing over Kenny's bottom lip before he pulled away.

"Did you really have to ask?"


	9. Chapter 8

Okay guys, this is my last update before I go **back to school**, which means that things are probably going to** slow down** over the next few weeks, so. Just a warning. I'm going to do my best to** keep on writing** on a** regular basis** because I'm having a lot of fun and it'll probably keep me from going insane while school's in session.

**Thank you** to all you **readers** and **reviewers**. You are **beautiful human beings**.

* * *

><p>The pros of staying with Kenny were many. Butters didn't have to pay rent, since he took care of Patrick during the day, and he was alone for most of the time, free to hang out without having to worry about demon cats or keeping the place impeccably neat.<p>

The cons included running out of clean clothes quickly, sleeping on a twin mattress with a baby crib a foot from his head, and feeling like some deranged twenty-first century housewife. He didn't mind cooking, and cleaning was just sort of a habit anyway, but the moment Kenny had come home, kissed him on the cheek, and asked him what was for dinner, joke or not, Butters had had enough. That wasn't what this was for. This was supposed to be extra time to sort out his life, time he would've spent in his room back at his parents' house if they hadn't decided to come home from their vacation a whole week early. To be honest, it was kind of bothersome. He thought for sure that getting out of his parents' house would get him into a better head space, or make him more productive. Instead it was just pissing him off and in turn he was getting even more pissed off that he was letting himself get so pissed off.

So, to beat the inevitable dread and drear that came with being a humdrum, stuck-in-a-rut housewife, Butters started packing Patrick up into a stroller and taking him to Stark's Pond with a blanket, a few toys, and some reading materials. For almost a week solid, Patrick and Butters stretched out on a blanket and read for hours on end. It was nice, mostly because the weather had been so great and Butters' time had been so ample and unfilled otherwise. That, and he'd been waiting for almost a week after his last interview for someone to call him, and so far he'd gotten jack shit, so a little extra vitamin D was a nice distraction from that... and the fact that none of the other jobs he'd applied for had sent any word back, which lead Butters to wonder why anyone posted jobs to begin with if they weren't actually looking for applicants.

"I'm tellin' ya," Butters said to Patrick as he leafed through a trashy gossip rag. Okay admittedly it wasn't exactly fine literature, but Patrick didn't judge. Butters kind of liked that about him. "Enjoy bein' a kid while you can, 'cause bein' an adult kinda sucks a big fat one."

"Isn't that kind of crude talk for a baby?"

Butters looked up from his article about Kim Kardashian to see Ike standing over him, a notebook in hand and a pen tucked behind his ear. Butters gave him as cheery a smile as he could muster and a little wave.

"Hey there," he greeted. "What're you doin' out here in the middle of the day?"

"I always come to the park on my days off," Ike sniffed and held up his notebook. "Figured I'd be all transcendentalist and shit, write the next fucking _Walden_ or something."

"What's _Walden_?" Butters asked, eyebrows knitting together.

"It's a book, dude," Ike rolled his eyes. Apparently, with the recent influx of college graduates, Ike had been banking on someone to be on his same level. Butters just tutted and shook his head.

"Sorry, I got a real degree," he said, but scooted himself and Patrick over to make room for another body on the blanket. Ike sat down and gave Patrick a smile.

"'the fuck's up, dude?" he asked.

"He and I are discussing the implications of Christina Aguilera leaving _The Voice_."

"Riveting," Ike nodded and flipped open his notebook. Butters laughed a little before he went back to his magazine.

"Maybe we should start you on Dr. Seuss or Berenstain Bears or somethin'," Butters frowned when he opened up to a page full of chunky women in two-piece bathing suits. Ike laughed while he scribbled down a few things, and from what Butters could see of his handwriting he was going to have a hell of a time deciphering it later on. Butters just smiled and rolled onto his back, taking in the vivid blue of the sky against the trees around them. He'd missed his quiet little mountain town—truth be told, living in a big city had kind of sucked.

"Hey, dude?" Ike's voice broke the silence between them. Butters gave nothing but a light hum in response, which made Ike shift before he continued. "You've been really cool about this… with me and Karen, I mean. Anyone else would've ratted us out, but you didn't. I appreciate it."

"Oh," Butters sat up and pulled Patrick into his lap. "We-well, it's no trouble at all, really."

Not if you counted sticking Kenny's dick in his mouth every single time he wanted to spill the beans 'troublesome'. Keeping secrets from Kenny was no easy feat, especially since on a regular basis he went over a list of young men in South Park that Karen might like to fuck.

"I mean," Ike continued. "We're gonna tell 'em. Not like we can hide it or anything. It's just… I'm seventeen, you know? I don't really expect a lot in the support department when my parents find out."

"Well," Butters began, leaning back on his hands as Patrick crawled around his and Ike's legs. "They love you, don't they? Love's not one of those things that's got deal-breakers, y'know? Especially with your family."

"Which is why you've talked to your parents since they caught you paddling Kenny in a sling, right?"

"We were just fucking!" Butters yelped. "Christ, what the hell does Karen tell you?"

"Only what she thinks is worth hearing," Ike shrugged, a big shit-eating grin on his face.

"Listen," Butters rolled his eyes. "I'm in no position to tell either of you what to do, but the sooner you let everyone know, the better. I'm serious, Ike, don't un—"

Butters was cut off by the sound of phone blaring the Lady Gaga classic, Alejandro… because he'd forgotten to change the ring tone after he'd come home. As expected, Ike tossed aside a halfhearted "fag" before Butters answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Leopold Stotch? Annie McPhearson with Helping Hands."

"Oh, hey there, Annie," Butters perked up, ignoring Ike's look of curiosity and Patrick's unhappy squeal when he'd discovered one of Ike's shoes.

"Hi," came Annie's generic tone. "Leopold, I was just calling to inform you that unfortunately they've decided to promote within the company."

"O-oh," Butters faltered, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I ce—" _fuck_, he'd been so good about keeping his stammer to himself around these people "—I'm sure glad to have had the opportunity."

"I feel I need to tell you that everyone here just _adored_ you," Annie began. "But the higher ups made the decision to hire within. I—is that a baby?"

Butters rolled his eyes, because somehow Ike had made Patrick cry… probably stepped on one of his fingers with one of his massive feet. Ike pulled Patrick to him, trying to calm him down, but to no avail. Butters pushed himself from the blanket and walked a few paces.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," he said.

"I thought I recognized it," Annie said, her voice shifting to one of familiarity and genuine friendliness. "A fellow sufferer. How old?"

"Uh, si-six months?" Butters replied, confused.

"Oh, yeah," Annie laughed. "I remember that. Oh, my word, and you're so young. Are you married, or…"

"Oh no, Annie, I'm not—"

"Good grief, you poor thing," Annie replied, and all the way from here Butters could see her putting her hand over her heart. "That's… that's tough. Tell you what, I'm keeping your application in the system, and the next time we have an opening you're first on the list, okay?"

"Gee," Butters stared awestruck at Ike and Patrick on the blanket. "I mean, tha-thanks Annie."

"No problem, Leopold," Annie beamed. "Stay strong, all right?"

"Sure," Butters nodded and bade her 'goodbye' before hanging up the phone and walking back to the blanket.

"Who was that?" Ike asked.

"No one," Butters shook his head. "Only I think I just lied about having a kid."

Ike nodded and passed Patrick to Butters, looking a little more distressed than usual. Patrick, who'd miraculously ceased his bawling, was sucking on his thumb and looking a little exhausted. They had been out for a while.

"How do you do it?" Ike asked, looking at Butters like one would look at a fine craftsman or something.

"Do what?" Butters stood and went to put Patrick in his stroller.

"How are you so sure that you're not gonna kill him or something?" Ike asked and pushed himself up. "Like, he's so tiny and shit, and this one's not even as tiny as they come. What if mine's all… little?"

"They grow up, Ike," Butters laughed and made to fold the blanket. "Jeez, you think he's gonna be little forever?"

"No, but," Ike shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "It's like… it'll depend on me for food and clothes and shit. And meanwhile, all I'll have is this little thing, getting older every day, reminding me that I'm getting older too, until one day I'm just a withered up old man waiting to die."

"Whoa, whoa," Butters held up a hand. "First of all, you gotta stop hangin' out with your little goth friend if this is how he's gonna make you talk. And second of all, you'll be, what, thirty-five by the time your kid would be in his first year of college? Worrying about getting old and having existential crises should wait until you're _at least_ eighteen."

"Whatever," Ike rolled his eyes. "You heading back to Kenny's?"

"No," Butters stifled a yawn. "I'm gonna go get some stuff from my mom's place. My dad always works late on Tuesdays and my mom goes to the store at four o'clock _on the dot_, so I figure I got a good chunk of time."

"You don't have a car," Ike pointed out.

"Well, no," Butters agreed, "But one of my suitcases rolls, so I figure—"

"Dude, I'll take you," Ike shrugged and, in an attempt to show his affection, gave Butters a rather awkward punch on the shoulder. Butters snorted, but made no further comment on the matter. He kneeled on the ground and started tucking the blanket and the magazine back into the bag he'd brought, a task that was only abandoned when Butters noticed a figure approaching them quickly. Immediately he stood and stepped closer to Patrick's stroller, where he still sat snoozing.

Now that Butters thought about it, Mrs. Stevens was _totally_ the type of person you'd expect to be out jogging in the middle of July in a sweat suit. Kenny always said she would've been a MILF if she weren't such a high-strung, superficial bitch all the time. Like her daughter, she was on the tall, busty side. Unlike her daughter, she was some deranged lunatic who would've rather had her daughter marry a doctor than become one.

"You," she pointed at Butters. "Just what on earth do you think you're doing with my grandson?"

"I'm lookin' after him, ma'am," Butters replied, laying a hand on the stroller. "Kenny's at work right now."

"And so he left my poor grandson in the care of a couple of _strangers_?" she spat, outraged. "That is absolutely inappropriate. Look, why don't you just give him to me and I'll sort this out with his father later."

"I'm… probably not gonna do that, Mrs. Stevens," Butters narrowed his eyes. This woman must've thought he was completely vacant. "I'll be happy to tell Kenny you'd like to have a chat with him, though."

"Oh, for goodness sake," Mrs. Stevens laughed. "You're the Stotch's boy, aren't you? Your mom always speaks so highly of you. She says you've got a really good head on your shoulders. Let's not make this into an issue."

"I'm not makin' it into an issue," Butters replied frankly and folded his arms. "All I said was you're not takin' him."

"Look," she spoke very softly, seeming to want to keep this from Ike, who was only a few paces away but well within an earshot. "You and I both know that that McCormick boy is a sweet, kind-hearted young man. He's just a little misguided, is all. Until he and my daughter settle into their lives, it would benefit everyone if you just let me take Patrick home with me."

Butters wasn't entirely sure what had happened at that point. Usually he was good at maintaining a polite air of calm in situations like this, but… Jeez, something inside of him must've just snapped.

"Know what _I _think would benefit everyone?" he asked, voice void of its old charm and now. "Is if I rang up that husband of yours and told him that if he ate a little pussy every once in a while, he may not have such a self-important bitch on his hands. You get this kid over my dead body, understand?"

He grabbed the stroller and gave Mrs. Stevens a nice smile before he stalked off, Ike close in tow. He got the feeling that that probably hadn't been the best course of action. Oh man, he didn't feel so good.

"Holy shit!" Ike laughed as h he ran to catch up with him. "What the fuck was _that_?"

"Very ill-informed," Butters muttered, looking behind him to see that Mrs. Stevens had resumed her jog. He stopped for a second, clutching at his stomach, before he made the executive decision to double over and take a few deep breaths.

"Whoa, dude, are you okay?" Ike asked.

"I think I just messed up real bad," Butters groaned back.

"Uh, correction," Ike posed, "I think that fucking owned. If I'd known you could word-fuck people like that I would've had you start reading my novel ages ago."

"I promise," Butters stood back up, running his hands over his face. "Anything you've just seen is the product of me spendin' too much time in West Hollywood around a bunch of jaded old queens."

"Well, whatever it was, it was awesome," Ike shrugged.

"No," Butters shook his head, lapsing further and further into a state of panic with every thought he let himself think. "You don't get it, Ike. She wants t-to take Patrick from Kenny. A-an' what I just did back there could give her grounds to bust Kenny for leavin' him with a foul-mouthed little faggot like me."

"Dude, she's all talk," Ike shook his head. "And hey, if not, we'll enlist my dad or some shit. He'll rip that yuppie cunt a new one."

"Ike, come on," Butters rolled his eyes.

"Well, he will!" Ike defended, taking to push Patrick's stroller since Butters was obviously not up to the task. "Come on, dude, you know you're not the only one looking out for Kenny."

Butters shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Yeah, he knew Kenny had friends—it had always been that way. Kenny gave as few fucks about as many things as possible, which had somehow translated into collecting an array of, if not friends, than at least friendly acquaintances. Butters, on the other hand, had spent the first seventeen years of his life giving a shit about everyone and everything and getting nothing but jack shit from people.

Maybe Butters just liked the idea of being the only one looking out for Kenny because he knew Kenny was often times the only one looking out for him. He liked to think that, if they were surrounded by an army of enemies, he and Kenny would be standing back to back, them against the rest of the world.

Then again, it had been a long time since Butters had been in the business of having friends who didn't like him purely for his moments of quick wit or his tendency to be a complete and total pushover.

Kenny had made it abundantly clear that he loved Butters for his ass above all else anyway.

"Oh, shit," Ike said as they approached the Broflovski house. "Shit, I forgot I don't have a car seat."  
>"Ah-ha," Butters snapped back into himself, presenting the stroller as he would a door prize on a 1970s game show. "It turns <em>into<em> a car seat."

"No shit," Ike said in utter amazement.

"Yep," Butters beamed. "The other one broke last week an' I told Kenny this'd probably be a more solid investment."

"See," Ike pointed out, sounding a little worn and desperate. "Who the fuck thinks of shit like that? You guys are fuckin' wonder dads over here and I'm just some idiot kid who can't even finish writing a goddamned novel."

"I'm not a dad," Butters frowned. I-I'm just a babysitter."

"Dude," Ike laughed. "A live-in who takes care of the kids, cooks and cleans, and fucks the dad when he gets home? Face it, you're a kept man."

"Ike."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe you wanna just, I dunno, fuck off?"

"Ouch," Ike laughed. "Someone forgot to take her midol this morning."

Butters rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

They spent the ride over to the Stotch household in relative silence. As expected, there were no cars in the driveway upon arrival, so Butters unbuckled his seatbelt and left Ike to watch Patrick while he snuck into his house to pack up a suitcase. He packed up the remainder of his clothes and DVDs, along with some notebooks and things he felt the immediate need to have, and sighed. His mom had moved a lot of her sewing and knitting things into his room already, which meant that she was already preparing for his ultimate move-out. Part of him now wanted to wait until she got home, to get down on his knees and beg her forgiveness so that he could come back and stay for as long as he wanted.

A little passive-aggressive, but what else was new in this family? The only reason his mom had gotten a cat was because she'd spent four whole months lamenting the fact that her ungrateful son was leaving her for something as trite as an education. Passive-aggressive was a second language in this family.

He lugged his suitcase down the stairs, only to jump when his mother opened the door and screamed at seeing his presence.

"Butters, what on earth are you doing here?" she breathed, hand over her chest as she balanced a bag of groceries on her hip.

"I-I was just g-grabbin' some stuff," he gulped. "Di-didn't think you'd be home."

Linda looked at him with one of those pitying looks on her face as she shut the door.

"I thought your stammer had gotten better, sweetheart," she said and walked back to the kitchen.

"It has," Butters looked down at his feet. "C-comes back sometimes. Y'know, a-at school you couldn't even tell? Everyone thought I was normal… it was like a miracle." He gave a nervous laugh and approached the kitchen. Linda didn't seem to be as amused by the sentiment as he was, and apparently neither were the cans she was so unceremoniously tossing into the cupboard.

"Mom, believe it or not, I am sorry," he said softly, leaning against the archway. "But you—you came home early. How was I supposed to—"

"Butters, that McCormick boy is nothing but trouble," Linda said definitively.

"No more trouble than he was before," Butters shrugged.

"Exactly," Linda threw the last can in the cupboard and shut the door violently. "You know, you must think that I just sprung to life one day and gave birth to you. Let me tell you something, mister, after that little display last week it isn't that difficult to guess what you two were doing all those years ago."

Butters felt his chest turn to ice. _Fuck_.

"Mom, it wasn't—"

"What did he do to you, Butters?" Linda folded her arms, looking at Butters expectantly. "And don't you dare tell me that it wasn't anything. You were miserable before you went off to school."

Wait.

Wait, she'd noticed? Linda Stotch, walking void and cat enthusiast, had noticed that her son had been upset? Butters wasn't entirely sure he bought it, but he'd give her the benefit of the doubt for now. He scratched the back of his head and sighed.

"I don't know," he said. "He just… left."

"And now you're doing... well, what you're doing, again?" Linda asked. "Please tell me at least you know where he went."

Butters sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Truth be told, he'd kind of been skirting the issue. He'd heard something about Brazil in the midst of a lot of shouting the other week, but he'd gotten the sinking feeling that Kenny hadn't wanted to talk about it. Butters had a weakness, unfortunately, for complying to other people's wishes instead of his. He knew that, he fucking _knew_ that and still he was getting nowhere. He and Kenny were in the same place they'd been when he'd gotten back.

It's just… they were having sex now.

"Sweetheart," his mom sighed, disappointment abound. "I can deal with you being… being _gay_," she said, like a church mob was standing right behind her, "but that McCormick boy—"

"Kenny!" Butters snapped. "For God's sake, he's got a name! A-an' it doesn't matter what he did or where he went, 'cause I-I—we're friends."

"_Friends_?" Linda asked, her eyebrows high on her forehead. "Sweetheart, friends don't bend each other over the side of a couch and fuck each other like that."

"Mom!" Butters exclaimed. He'd had a lot of low points in his life, many of which had involved feelings of betrayal and heartbreak, but having his mother use the word 'fuck' in reference to catching him and Kenny in the throes of sex was definitely down there.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," Linda iterated. "I don't know why in the world you would want to make things harder for yourself."

"By bein' with Kenny or by bein' gay?"

Linda sighed and put a hand on her hip, seemingly using this as a refusal to answer. Butters just laughed a bit and went back to grab his suitcase.

"Thanks for not answering that," he said. He was at the front door, hand on the knob, when his mom came up behind him and turned him around, pulling him into a hug. Butters blinked a few times before he hugged her back.

"I'm making roast on Friday," Linda said as she pulled back. "Be here around six with a bottle of wine… by yourself."

"O-okay?" Butters asked. Linda gave him a nod and kissed him on the forehead.

"Love you, baby."

"Y-you too, mom."

Butters walked out to Ike's car, tossing his bag in the back and getting back into the passenger's seat without so much as a thought clouding his head. Ike, bless him, seemed to pick up on the hint and drove away without asking so much as an 'are you okay?' They drove all the way back to Kenny's in complete silence, Butters' mind, however, going at about a billion miles a minute.

The plain and simple facts were that Butters still didn't know where Kenny had gone, or even why he'd gone. Yeah, he hadn't asked, but that was because he'd figured Kenny would tell him when he was ready. Not that Kenny was the most talkative of human beings—in fact, compared to most, Kenny was one of the most reserved people Butters knew—but they got there eventually, right?

Ike helped Butters get Patrick and his suitcase into Kenny's house before stealing a Mr. Pibb out of Kenny's fridge and taking off back home. He was a good kid, Butters decided, as he woke Patrick up to feed him. Jesus, his head felt so full and saturated that he couldn't even pick out a single thing to be bothered about, couldn't latch onto one train of thought and ride it to its end. All he could do was sit there like a fucking zombie and watch Patrick suck back formula like it was the best thing in the world. He'd also been instructed to start giving him more baby food, some nasty-looking orange stuff today, and didn't even care that Patrick batted the spoon out of his hand like the petulant little thing he was.

It felt like it had so many years ago, with all the questions and uncertainties swirling around in his head like a chaotic tornado of insecurities. He'd loved Kenny. He may not have admitted it out loud, or given actual thought to the matter at the time, but looking back it was entirely obvious.

And in retrospect it would have appeared that Kenny had very obviously loved Butters too.

God, so why the hell did he leave?

Butters hastily wiped the tears from his cheeks and the sweet potato from his shirt. Patrick whined a little and held his hands out for Butters to pick him up, and Butters was at the point where he didn't want to do anything else but cuddle Patrick to his chest and watch TV. Truth be told, the kid was kind of growing on him.

Ugh, and he'd snapped at Bebe's mom like that… In all likelihood, he'd absolutely spoiled everything and given that self-righteous cow reason to believe that Kenny was a horrible parent. He felt himself start crying again, at which point Patrick put his hands on his cheeks and babbled a bit. This, of course, only made Butters want to cry harder, so he just sat down on Kenny's ratty old couch and flipped on the TV. He settled on some inane program and sat with Patrick until he felt his eyes dry up and his breathing even out. When Patrick started to doze, Butters switched off the TV and took him upstairs. He lay on the bed as Patrick fell asleep, even felt himself start to snooze until he heard the door open and shut downstairs.

"Baby-baby!" he heard Kenny shout up the stairs. "Where're my boys at?"

And okay, Butters couldn't help but smile a bit at that. He'd forgotten how exhausting Kenny's enthusiasm could be sometimes, especially since it had only started resurfacing recently. Kenny busted in the door a few moments later, all grins and bouncing eyebrows. He looked into Patrick's crib, and, seemingly satisfied with his state of being, pounced on top of Butters and gave him a kiss hello.

"Hi, there," Kenny grinned, raking his fingers through Butters' hair.

"Hey," Butters laughed as Kenny nuzzled at his neck. "How was your day?"

"Good," Kenny nodded and pulled back. "Any reason Mrs. Stevens called me and told me I'd left a foul-mouthed lunatic in charge of her grandson?"

Butters screwed his eyes shut and ran a hand over his face. He'd had a feeling that this was going to happen.

"Am I fucked?" he asked.

"You're so fucked," Kenny hummed softly, nipping Butters on the bottom lip before he pinned his wrists to the bed. "What the fuck did you say?"

"I didn't mean to, I swear," Butters rolled his eyes, his voice on the brink of a desperate whine. "It's just… God, Kenny, she's such a bitch."

"Uh, hello, yeah," Kenny laughed, nodding. "I know that, but you can't fucking _say_ what you… what did you say?"

Butters felt his face flush as he shook his head. This, of course, only made Kenny raise his eyebrow and give him an imploring look. Crap, Butters fucking hated that look.

"Come on, what did you say?" Kenny prompted again.

"It was bad, I-I don't wanna repeat it," Butters shook his head. She was a mean woman, sure, but it didn't exactly excuse what Butters had said to her. He forgot how mean he could get sometimes—he hated being mean. More importantly, he hated that he just got so fed up sometimes that he couldn't even control it.

"Dude, I need to know how bad it was so I can deal with it, okay?" Kenny sighed. "You have to tell me."

"Hey, last I checked I don't gotta do jack shit!" Butters snapped, pushing Kenny off of him as he moved to stand.

"Hey, hey," Kenny whispered harshly. "Get the fuck out of here if you're gonna shout. For shit's sake, you're gonna wake him up." Butters rolled his eyes and left the room without so much as another word. He went all the way downstairs and sat on the couch, trying to get a grip on himself before he did or said something stupid again. He wasn't sure what it was with his impluse control lately, but it was getting bad. He mouthed off to his parents whenever they called, he'd… jeez, he'd started having sex with Kenny on nothing more than a whim. Maybe he just needed to be alone for a minute, right? Sure. It was fine. All Kenny had to do was give him a few seconds, just a few more fucking seconds for him to gather his bearings.

"Okay, so what the fuck was that, dude?" Kenny came down the stairs and went to sit on the arm of the couch beside him. Butters bit his lips and shook his head. He wasn't going to give in. He was a normal human being with a normal amount of self control, even if it didn't seem like it sometimes. And even if he wasn't when he was at school, at least he always was when he was here, at home… around Kenny.

"I'm not mad, you know I'm not," Kenny sighed and slid off of the arm and right next to Butters. "I need to know if I have to do damage control, so I need you to tell me what you said."

"Okay, y'know what?" Butters stood and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm so… fuckin' sick of people _n-ne-needin'_ shit from me. First? First it's all that dumbass _shit_ you assholes n-needed from me when we were kids. Then it was my p-p—my _fuckin'_ parents needin' me to get a degree I didn't fuckin' want, needin' me to watch their fuckin' house with their fuckin' cat. Then of course Karen and Ike need me to keep quiet about _their_ shit—"

"Wait, what?"

Oh… _oh no._

Butters looked to Kenny, absolutely petrified as he watched him rise to his feet and cross his arms. Aw Jesus, he looked furious.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"Kenny… shit," Butters began fiddling with his fingers, kneading his knuckles together until he felt some semblance of calm settle over him. "Shit, now before you get crazy, I need—Jesus," he gave a nervous laugh, "I need you to calm down just a little."

"Fuck your calming down!" Kenny shouted, and then sensing Butters' sincerity, took a deep breath and spoke a little more calmly. "Did you just tell me that Ike Broflovski knocked up my little sister?"

"Yes, but—"

"Go get Patrick," Kenny said, so calmly that it sent a chill up Butters' spine.

"Kenny, please don't do anything stupid," Butters begged softly. "I-I didn't mean to. Karen asked me to keep it to myself 'til she was ready to tell you—"

"Get Patrick," Kenny said again. "And get in the car."

"But he's sleepin'," Butters frowned.

"I know that," Kenny nodded, eyes big and wide as he went to grab his car keys off of the side table by the door. "But at the risk of sounding like a maniac, you're probably the only fucking person on this planet who's going to keep me from going into a fit of homicidal _fucking_ rage, so please? For the sake of the life of my unborn niece or nephew's father, dare I even say for the sake of my sister?"

"You're oddly eloquent when you're angry," Butters observed, only to dart up the stairs when Kenny gave him his most livid look.

They drove to the Broflovski house with Kenny calling Kyle's cell phone about every three seconds, telling his 'bitch-ass' to 'pick up the fucking phone every once in a while'. Butters sighed and listened to Kenny's mad raves and rants, even told him to keep it down so Patrick could at least fall back asleep.

"I'm gonna make this little fucker wish he'd never been born," Kenny muttered as he pulled to a stop on front of the Broflovski house and scrambled out. Butters followed, quickly unlatching Patrick from his car seat and running to catch up with Kenny.

"Hey, wait up, asshole!" Butters whispered harshly as he came to stand beside him on the stoop. "You gotta promise me you ain't gonna go batshit crazy."

"I'm afraid I can't promise that," Kenny replied frankly as he pounded on the door.

"Kenny, someone's gonna call White Trash in Trouble or Cops on you. You really wanna continue on with that legacy? Huh, McCormick?"

Kenny groaned and gave Butters a pleading look, obviously completely resentful of being called on his shit. Butters balanced a squirming Patrick in one arm and brought up the other to rub at the back of Kenny's neck. This dissolved Kenny's front even further, and for a moment Butters thought he may have been victorious. It wasn't often you could work Kenny up into a rage—a real rage—but when he got there it was almost important to get him out of it.

Then, of course, Kyle opened the door in nothing but a t-shirt and his boxers and Kenny lost it again.

"Is your brother here?" he asked with an air of calm that, for a second, even fooled Butters.

"Uh, yeah, he's in the basement," Kyle raised an eyebrow and stepped aside just in time to save himself from being pushed as Kenny ran into the house and over to the basement door.

"Where are you, you little shit?" he shouted. Butters dashed in behind him, followed closely by a very confused Kyle who couldn't seem to form any words other than 'what the fuck?' They got down to the basement to see Ike, glass pipe in his hand and computer on his lap, and looking scared shitless as Kenny loomed over him. The moment Ike saw Butters, it seemed to click.

"Aw, dude, what the fuck Butters!" he groaned in desperation.

"Hey!" Kyle snapped. "Anyone wanna tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

Kenny whipped around, wild-eyed as he pointed an accusatory finger at Ike.

"He knocked up my sister."

Kyle folded his arms and looked at Kenny blankly for a moment before he broke out into a laugh—an honest to god laugh. Strange, Butters couldn't help but think, because Kyle wasn't one of those people who just laughed for no reason… or out of the presence of Stan. There he was, though, all keeled over and gasping for breath.

"He's—" Kyle wheezed. "He's seventeen, for fuck's sake. He doesn't know how to use his dick yet."

"Apparently not!" Kenny exclaimed. "If he knew how it worked he would've known how to wrap it the fuck up!"

"I thought I did," Ike argued back and struck up his lighter. "Obviously I didn't pork your sister thinking I'd get her pregnant."

"Oh, no?" Kenny asked, eyebrows sky high.

"No," Ike shook his head and let out a plume of smoke. "I had sex with Karen thinking it'd be fun."

"You _what_?" Kyle shouted, now sounding more like Sheila Broflovski than perhaps even the woman herself. "Are you _insane_?"

"I told you I had a girlfriend, fucker," Ike snorted and offered the pipe to both Kenny and Kyle, who were now looming over him like a couple of disappointed parents.  
>"You fucked my sister—"<p>

"How could you be suck an irresponsible fuckwit—"

"—got her pregnant—"

"—you're only seventeen—"

"—she's only nineteen, asshole—"

"—you don't even have a fucking degree—"

"—she's a _waitress_, Ike—"

"Aw, will you both just shut the heck up!" Butters shouted over the their squabbling. Kenny whipped around fast and gave him a dangerous look.

"Don't even get me started on you," he said lowly. "You knew about this and you didn't even have the fucking stones to tell me."

"He didn't tell you because Karen asked him not to," Ike set his computer aside and stood. "Look, I'm not some deadbeat she picked up after she got off her shift at a strip joint, okay? It's not ideal or anything, but I love your sister, dude. She's pretty, she's smart, she's funny, and she's… like the best human being alive. I'm fucking lucky she puts up with my shit. And I'm psyched as hell that she loves me enough to want to have my demon spawn."

Butters knew he was smiling like a dope. If Ike's writing was at all like that, it was a wonder no one had bitten on his novel yet. Everyone was tense, looking to Kenny for some sign of reaction. Kenny just stood there with his arms folded and gaze boring into Ike like he was trying to make him spontaneously combust or something. Butters inched closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Ken?"

"Don't—" Kenny shrugged his shoulder away. "So, my sister is your girlfriend."

"Affirmative," Ike nodded.

"So… for the last three years," Kenny began. "All of those stupid, _graphic_ stories about you fucking your girlfriend have been about _my sister_."

"Well," Ike coughed. "When I say she deep throats like a cheap Russian hooker, what I _meant_ was that I totally respect her as a woman."

Kenny didn't say a word before he made a swing right at Ike's head. Luckily, Butters was close enough to catch the wrist of his sweater and pull him back into reality.

"He's a kid, you're an adult," Butters reminded him and then looked over at Ike. "And you think you're bein' clever? That was the most inappropriate thing that's come outta your mouth all day, and have you _heard_ yourself talk for long periods of time?"

"Don't take a swing at my little brother, dude," Kyle scowled and moved to stand beside Ike. "I mean, okay. This happened. It was dumb and irresponsible and they're _both_ prize idiots, but they've obviously made their choices so we may as well move on."

You knew it was bad when Kyle was being the calm one.

"Move on?" Kenny laughed. "Ike's just the one who got her pregnant, okay? Do you know how many dirty looks I get because of Patrick compared to the fucking shit Bebe has to endure every time she comes back here? Having to hear people calling her a slut behind her back, to her face, telling her it was her fault and that she really could've been something _despite_ the fact that she's back in school. If that's what a girl like Bebe gets, what the fuck is gonna happen to Karen, huh? We'll be lucky if we get through the next nine months without an angry mob carving a big letter 'A' into her chest. Ike, you could go out and conquer the fucking literary world if you wanted and no one would say a word, but even if Karen does twice what you do with twice the quality, she'll still just be that slutty piece of trailer trash who had a kid when she was nineteen."

Kenny left the basement then, slamming the door behind him and leaving Butters and Patrick to stand in awkward silence with both Kyle and Ike alternating staring at the ceiling and floor. Butters didn't want to say anything, mostly because Patrick was getting antsy and he didn't want to run the risk of him bawling on top of everything else today.

"Fuck, Ike," Kyle finally said. "Karen McCormick? Really?"

"What?" Ike asked, chewing on a few of his fingernails. His eyes were bright pink and glazed over. "I like older women, dude, you know that."

"Shut the fuck up," Kyle rubbed his eyes as Ike went back to sitting on the couch. "She's pregnant, you idiot. You know, like, with a baby?"

"Everyone has babies," Ike rolled his eyes. "Plus, I had to give mom grandchildren."

"'the fuck are you talking about?" Kyle asked.

"I know it's not for a lack of trying, dude, but dumping your soldiers into Stan's ass isn't gonna do much more than make him all sticky up his butthole."

"Dude!"

"We-well, I think I'd better go check on Kenny now, fellas," Butters interjected loudly. "I-I'm sure he'll be fine, he's just… excited."

Kyle and Ike both nodded and gave Butters a few very tepid 'goodbye's before Butters headed up the stairs and out of the house. Kenny was sitting out on the hood of his car.

Smoking a cigarette.

"You put that out before we even come near you, mister," Butters called to him. In the summery glow of dusk, Butters could see Kenny give him the finger and lean back on the windshield. Butters sighed, but he looked to be about done anyway so he let it slide. Kenny flicked the smoldering butt into the dirt a few minutes later, so Butters went to fasten Patrick into his car seat and then to hop up beside Kenny and sit with his knees to his chest.

"You mad at me?" he asked.

"I've decided that you being cool to my sister and keeping your word… well, for the most part," Kenny amended, "That was pretty awesome. So it balances out the whole 'keeping it from me' thing. Mazel tov."

"Thanks?" Butters accepted hesitantly, but decided not to question it when Kenny sat back up and pulled him into a kiss. When he pulled back he looked just about as distressed as ever.

"I'm gonna get through this," he said, not quite asking and not quite stating.

"You're gonna get through this," Butters nodded.

"And Karen's gonna get through this."

"With a brother like you?" Butters smiled. "She's gonna sail through this."

Kenny smiled at that and bowed their heads together, running his fingers through Butters' hair and pressing kisses to his cheeks and his lips and even to his nose.

"Now tell me I'm pretty."

"What?" Butters laughed.

"Tell me I'm pretty," Kenny grinned and immediately moved to jab Butters in the ticklish spots between his ribs. Normally something so middle school (so middle school _girl_, to be quite honest) wasn't quite their thing, but it kind of felt good to laugh after all that tension. Heck, it felt good to laugh just after the day he'd had today. They stayed on the hood of the car until the sun set, completely ignoring Kyle's constant pop-outs, reminders for them to either come inside or go the fuck home. Reclining there, Kenny's head resting on Butters' shoulders as they watch the sun saturated the mountains in color, Butters realized that he kind of didn't care.

He didn't care that Kenny was a little crazy, or that he'd up and left without saying goodbye. This, what they were doing now, what they'd been doing the last few weeks, was hint enough that Kenny still maybe loved Butters as much as he once had.

And that Butters maybe kind of still loved him too.


	10. Interlude

Hi guys! This chapter jumps back ahead to the time of the **prologue**, just so you're aware. Don't want anyone getting too confused.

A big thank you to all of you who're sticking around, even when things are slowing down. Your patience and love is much appreciated.

And now, an _interlude_...

* * *

><p>Kenny likes to think he's pretty good about sharing his kid with Butters. It's not like he ever really had a choice anyway—the fucker had all but swooped in and gotten all chummy with him right from the start.<p>

God, he's their kid, _their_ kid, he's always been their kid. Butters has just as much of a claim on him as Kenny does. Kenny sees them in the kitchen every morning, eating breakfast, both ready for the day when Kenny's only just rolled out of bed, looking just as much the part of father and son as Kenny and Patrick do. Truth be told, Kenny loves waking up to that. He never thought he'd say it, but it's true.

"'morning, dad!" Patrick greets him brightly through a mouthful of cereal.

"'morning, sweetheart," Kenny yawns and rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he shuffles past the table to the cupboard. He's compromised with everyone over the years, and the general consensus on sugary cereals has been that he's allowed to keep Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Honey Nut Cheerios, and Life in the house, even though he doesn't much care for any of those. His boyfriend and his son are both somehow of the mind that shredded wheat and Raisin Bran are gifts from God that should be cherished and savored. Call him old fashioned, but Kenny really doesn't think he should have to hit up his fourteen-year-old niece for a bowl of Froot Loops when he goes to visit her and her sisters.

He settles on the Honey Nut Cheerios, deciding to pretend they're big and sugary and colorful and exactly what he wants so his son won't think he's a total fuckwit for wanting to eat children's cereal. Not that Patrick doesn't have a multitude of reasons to think he's a fuckwit anyway, but Kenny's all about limiting the opportunities on that front. He sets his bowl down on the table, gives Butters a kiss on the cheek, and sits down to eat.

"What're you boys up to?" he asks when he realizes that he must've walked in on them talking about something, or they wouldn't have gotten so quiet so fast. Kenny had resigned himself to the fact that they'll always have their own thing, and to be fair he and Patrick have their own thing too, but it wasn't nearly on the level of laughing and talking over soggy, fibrous cereal.

"Nothing," Patrick shrugs. Then Kenny remembers that, shit, Patrick's suspended from school with nowhere to go. He scratches at the back of his head—he can't leave him home, and he sure as shit can't take him to work.

"I'm gonna see if grandma will watch you," Kenny decides through a yawn.

"Which grandma?" Patrick asks very cautiously, which only makes Butters roll his eyes and Kenny snort.

"Grandma Carol," he replies. "Why?"

"No way," Patrick shakes his head. "Grandpa's there and he always tries to throw baseballs at my face."

"That's called playing catch," Kenny says very frankly.

"It's dangerous!" Patrick exclaims and brings his cereal closer to himself. Kenny highly doubts that. Stuart may be a total dickweed, but he did enjoy a good game of catch with his boys. Kevin had been more inclined to that kind of thing when they'd been kids, while Kenny had preferred video games and looking at Playboy over actual interaction with his family. Patrick was in the same boat… God help everyone, minus the porn.

"Maybe Grandma Linda can take you," Butters chimes in. That sends a chill right up Kenny's spine. All of Patrick's grandparents are legitimately insane, Carol and Stuart definitely included, but he doesn't know why letting Patrick hang out with Linda for a whole day rubs him in entirely the wrong way. She's helped them out a fuck of a lot over the years, and as much as Kenny hates to admit it, she's come to love Patrick like he' actually her own blood. He knows he shouldn't hold her insanity against her, but… at least when Patrick's with his parents, Kenny has a vague idea of what's going on.

"What would you do with Grandma Linda?" Kenny takes to asking with a curious frown.

"I don't know," Patrick shrugs again. "Probably go to get yarn? Or books? Oh, maybe she'll get me the new Amazing Spiderman!"

"You've got enough comic books," Butters says very pointedly, only to be met by looks of scorn from both Kenny and Patrick. He rolls his eyes and scratches at the back of his head. "Maybe you should go with Grandma Carol. Grandma Linda spoils your butt."

"Nuh-uh," Patrick shook his head. "She totally doesn't. She just makes me sit on her couch and watch the news with her while she knits. Can't I go to Aunt Karen's?"

"Aunt Karen works today, baby," Kenny said and rubbed at his temples. "Unless you want to sit at the diner all day with her 'til dad can pick you up."

Patrick perks up at this, all giddy at the thought, and Kenny knows that's it. Try as he might, he's actually the worst at denying Patrick what he wants. He relies on Butters for discipline almost exclusively, which isn't the greatest system, but Butters has such a better way of going about it.

"All right, get your butt ready and let's go call Aunt Karen," Kenny yawns again. Patrick gives a giddy whoop and darts from the table, forgetting entirely to put his dish away before he ran upstairs to get ready. Butters smiles and decides to let the infraction slide.

"Hey, come put your dish in the sink," Kenny calls. There's a pause in footsteps before he hears them coming back toward the kitchen. Okay, so Butters wasn't perfect with discipline. He was better at the big things, but he'd spent so much of his childhood being chewed out for the little things that he mostly can't bring himself to deal with them. Kenny's better at that kind of thing anyway—not too confrontational, but just enough to let Patrick know that he's still in the game.

"You talked to him for a while last night," Kenny remarks as he goes to wash the dishes. With hot water, he recalls, since he's done it improperly one too many times and Butters has threatened to start wearing shirts that make his nipple ring visible on several occasions.

"He wanted to know more about how this happened, so I talked to him," Butters shrugs.

"You tell him everything?"

"I left out the part about finding your collection of vibrating tongue rings, but yeah, for the most part," Butters shoots back through a smirk. Kenny snorts and turns around, looking at Butters like he likes to do every once in a while, just to make sure he's there, that this is actually their life. It's surreal sometimes, knowing that he's actually this happy all the time… this coming from someone who has the ability to die and come back to life.

Not that he does anymore, mind. There'd been an incident with Patrick playing on the train tracks a few years ago that had ended in Kenny getting plastered onto the front of a freight train; he'd only been gone for three days, but after seeing how red Butters' eyes were when he'd come back, or how Patrick had stared at him with a knowing look, he'd vowed he'd never do that to them unless it was absolutely an emergency.

Kenny shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about that now—all he wants to think about is how fucking lucky he is to have a partner like Butters.

"So, you like my vibrating tongue rings, huh?" he asks, the slightest hint of flirtatious amusement on his face. Butters looks back with that wry little smile and sits back in his chair.

"You know I do," he says as Kenny approaches him and cups his face in his hands. They kiss for a moment, Kenny sliding his tongue alongside Butters' and teasing at the roof of his mouth with one of those said same rings, left over from a quickie the night before right after they'd put Patrick to bed. Butters pulls away, a little pink in the cheeks and looking just about as dazed and enraptured by that stupid piece of jewelry as he has for the last eleven years.

"He'll never be up there for that long," Butters warns, even though it's half-hearted and soft. It only makes Kenny's smile widen as he sinks to his knees and undoes Butters' pants.

"He takes forever to get ready," Kenny says and gives Butters a few firm tugs. They don't have time to engage in as much foreplay as they once would've liked, but Kenny figures it's just a little morning head in the kitchen and resolves himself to not give a fuck. He switches on the ring and takes Butters' half-hard dick into his mouth, sucking long and slow, just to get him revved up. Butters sighs and gives a few shallow thrusts, before, as expected, the fact that they're never, _ever _alone rears its ugly head.

"Dad!" Patrick calls from upstairs, accompanied by a quick succession of footfalls that only offers Kenny enough time to pull away and switch his ring off and Butters to tuck himself back in his pants. They've both managed to cover up their erections by the time Patrick is standing in the doorway to the kitchen in nothing but a Doctor Who shirt and his smiley face alien underpants. He cocks his head at the sight of his dads and frowns.

"What're you doin' down there, dad?" he asks. Kenny gives a cough and hugs his legs to his chest.

"I fell off of my chair," he supplies quickly. Patrick pulls a face that could possibly convey disbelief, but Patrick doesn't know too much about what his dad's do aside from kissing and occasionally playing grab ass when they think he isn't looking, so Kenny's pretty sure they're safe.

"You should be more careful," Patrick frowns. "My mom says that if your ears hurt, it could mess with your balance and you could fall over. Do your ears hurt, dad?"

"No, sweetheart, my ears don't hurt," Kenny gives a slight laugh and, deeming that it's safe to stand, does so. "What's up?"

"Can I play with my cousins, you think?" Patrick asks, hopeful.

"They're all in school," Kenny shakes his head and goes to usher him toward the stairs. "They aren't nasty, paint-wielding little boys."

"I'm not nasty," Patrick mutters as Kenny gives him a little smack on the behind so he'll hightail it up the steps. Patrick sticks his tongue out at that, but doesn't argue, just trounces back up to his room.

"One day," Kenny says and walks back to Butters, who's now washing his own dish in the sink. He wraps his arms around his middle and continues with, "One day we'll be able to fornicate in our kitchen in peace."

"Until then, I'll take a rain check," Butters says and turns around in Kenny's embrace. He kisses him in a way that makes Kenny dizzy, though that could very well be due to the fact that Butters is palming him through his sweats. Normally they'd find themselves back in the laundry room, frantically fucking until their throats hurt from holding in their shouts. They resolve themselves to making out for a few minutes against the fridge before Patrick is in the doorway again, clearing his throat and tapping his foot like this is the biggest inconvenience of his life.

"Dad, come on," Patrick whines and looks over at them. "Dishes don't take that long. You guys are dawdling and you tell me _never_ to dawdle."

Kenny snorts and kisses Butters on the cheek.

"Call Karen for me?" he asks. Butters rolls his eyes and mentions something about bitch-work before he agrees. Kenny sticks out his tongue one more time, and Butters presses a kiss to it before Kenny bounds up the stairs to get ready.

He comes back downstairs a few minutes later, after pulling on some clean jeans and switching out his tongue rings, only to be greeted by a sardonic text from Karen on his phone about sending his ward to do his dirty work (a mere cloaking device for how delighted she'd be to have Patrick spend the day with her), and gets Patrick into the car without too much fuss. They drive silently for a few minutes before Kenny's curiosity gets the best of him.

"So, what did you and dad talk about last night?"

"He said that he came back after he was away at school, and that you already had me but he didn't care. Then he said that you guys realized you were still in love and that you wanted to be a family."

"Well, your dad would say that," Kenny laughs, quite possibly with a little too much sarcasm behind it, but come on. Of course Butters would wrap it up all nice like a fairytale. Of-fucking-course he would.

"Don't call him that."

Kenny looks over at Patrick, who's sitting with his arms folded and the biggest scowl Kenny's ever seen on that face.

"What are you talking about?" Kenny asks.

"He's not 'my' dad," Patrick returns curtly, like this should be very obvious and Kenny should be embarrassed that he even needed to ask.

"You call your mom 'your' mom all the time," Kenny frowns.

"'cause she's mine!" Patrick exclaims, wild-eyed and flailing now. "Dad's yours _and _mine. And you're mine and dad's. So don't call him 'mine' 'cause I don't like it!"

There's silence in the car for a few moments until they come to a stop. Kenny attempts to lay a comforting hand on Patrick's shoulder, but it's of no use. Patrick shrugs him away and turns further toward the window.

"He said," Patrick sniffles, "He said you guys realized you were still in love and that you wanted to be a family. That's what he said."

"I know, baby," Kenny says softly. His chest is all weird and full and how can a human being so small have an effect this big on one heart? It just didn't make sense. "I know what he said, but… y'know, things aren't always as simple as dad makes them out to be."

"But they are!" Patrick insists, still petulantly turned away. "We're all here now, and we're a family, and we're happy, so it has to be true!"

"Sweetheart, just because things turn out fine doesn't mean they're not complicated."

Patrick shifts in his seat, and Kenny knows that if he could see his face he'd be able to see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He's posed a conundrum, something his son had never encountered before. Patrick knew complications—he was a McCormick, for God's sake. That, along with having two dads, came with about three thousand complications on their own. Patrick finally looks over at Kenny and squints, obviously intrigued.

"Why was it complicated?" he asks. "Because you're both men?"

Kenny barks out a laugh and says, "Trust me, that was the least of our problems."

"Why?" Patrick asks again, more insistent this time.

"Because," Kenny began only to peter out. They'd pulled into the parking lot behind Kenny's work anyway so that they can walk to the diner. Butters is always insistent that they walk as much as possible, being the strange brand of health nut that he is. Kenny knows that it's because of his dad's heart attack a few years ago, but he figures it's the least he can do to comply with his wishes.

"You're not even gonna tell me, are you?" Patrick frowns accusingly as he grabs his bag and gets out of the car. Kenny moves to follow him quickly, because Patrick's been taught to walk with a purpose and he's just a fast little fuck in general. Kenny grabs him by the arm before he gets too far and, when Patrick shoots him a dirty look, starts fixing his hair.

Fuck, he's become such a fucking mother.

"What, dad?" Patrick snaps this time. "You just told me dad lied to me and now you're not gonna tell me the truth. That's fucked."

"Don't fucking swear," Kenny shoots back. "It's rude."

Patrick rolls his eyes and shrugs out of Kenny's grip again, stalking silently down the street toward the crosswalk. Yeah, he and Patrick had a different dynamic than Patrick and Butters did, but he'd never been flat-out _rude_. Kenny had been under the impression that he had a good few more years until he would have a teenager on his hands.

Then it dawns on him.

"Wait a second," Kenny runs to catch up with Patrick, who's mashing the crosswalk button like his life depends on it. "You're upset that I'm your real dad, aren't you?"

"No," Patrick snaps, even if he's about as terrible at hiding his emotions as Butters is. "I'm not. You're both my dad."

"I know that, but," Kenny takes a deep breath. "I won't be upset if you wished Butters was your real dad anyway."

It's a lie. It's such a fucking lie. If Patrick says he wishes anything even remotely close to that, Kenny is going to be nothing short of devastated. He knows it's not uncommon for a kid to be closer to one parent than the other, but Kenny's just… God, the kid's his flesh and blood, something Kenny never thought he'd ever _have_, and he can't even be the favorite? It was sort of the shittiest of situations.

Patrick seems to realize this too, that Kenny's actually spinning bullshit and that the wrong answer was going to hurt his feelings or some shit.

Fucking feelings.

"I don't care who's my real dad, honest," Patrick says and moves to hug Kenny tightly around his waist. Kenny's chest got all full again, because having his kid hug him would never not be awesome. Patrick pulls back first, rubbing at his nose and looking up with a sad sort of smile. Kenny sighs and ruffles his hair again.

"You remind me of him, if it's any consolation," he says.

"Can we not talk about it?" Patrick sighs and looks back at the light for a few seconds. He doesn't hesitate when it turns green, obviously eager to get off the subject and just go sit in a diner with his aunt for a few hours.

Then that old familiar feeling washes over Kenny and snaps him into action instantaneously. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulls Patrick back up onto the curb not a second before a giant truck sails through the red light and almost collides with a smaller blue Civic. Kenny can feel Patrick's heart racing where his back is squashed against him, can feel his chest rising and falling in rapid succession where his hand his holding him secure. Over the years, Kenny's had to learn how to think creatively, how to save people without sacrificing himself. He liked to think that he was getting better at it, the only exception being the one time a few years ago that they don't speak of.

"Shit," Kenny breathes. "You okay?"

"I think so," Patrick nods, gulping back the rush of anxiety that comes from a close encounter with death.

"Good," Kenny says and turns Patrick around without warning, crouching before him so he can glare good and proper. "How many times do I have to tell you to be careful?"

"I would've saw—" Patrick attempts to wriggle away, but Kenny holds him fast. He's got serious reservations about being too rough with Patrick, because Kenny's been _that_ kid, the kid who comes to school with bruises he has to explain and flinches he pretends not to have, and he doesn't ever want his kid to be in a comparable situation.

"No, Patrick," Kenny asserts, more firmly this time. "When I tell you that you have to be careful, you have to fucking listen to me. I'm not messing around."

Patrick tears away, successfully this time, and stalks off across the street. This, of course, almost gives Kenny a heart attack because the orange hand is fucking _already blinking_, for shit's sake. Kenny runs after him, catching up only when he's on the other side of the street, and tells him to wait as he doubles over to catch his breath. This body's only a few years old, and already it's giving him problems. Shit like this makes him seriously wonder how in the fuck everyone else makes it through their lives with just one.

"It's a crosswalk, dad, don't keel over about it," Patrick says dryly, and Kenny decides that he's going to have a serious talk with Butters about allowing their son believe he's clever.

"I won't," Kenny says. "You will."

"Right," Patrick nods in the way that little kids do when they're just beginning to understand sarcasm. "Your superpowers."

Kenny rolls his eyes, because Patrick totally knows that this is a legitimate thing. When Kenny had last died, he'd come back in the middle of the night to find Butters wide awake with that depressed kind of insomnia. After a tearful reunion, Kenny had gone to check on Patrick, who'd also been wide awake with what could only be described as eager anticipation. When Kenny had asked why, Patrick had sat up and cupped his hand over his mouth, like he was whispering the secret to life itself.

"Did I keep daddy safe for you?" he'd asked.

If he didn't know, then at the very least he had a vague intuition that his dad couldn't die. Either that, or he just hadn't given a fuck that Kenny's ass was gone. For all Kenny knew, the little bastard had danced on his grave.

"Did you even want me?"

And there it was. Kenny looks up and sees Patrick's face contorted in a determined scowl, like he's going to get to the bottom of this if it's the last fucking thing he does. Kenny stands up again, eyebrows pinched together in a curious frown before he says, "Of course I did. Dad didn't tell you how much I wanted you when your mom told me she was having you?"

"He did, but," Patrick sniffles and just like that he's crying. "Then he said how sad and tired you were all the time a-and I—why would you want me if I made you so sad?"

"Oh, baby," Kenny says in that pitying parental tone he'd prayed he'd never adopt and pulls Patrick close to him in a hug. "Baby, you've never made me sad a day in your life. Circumstances and situations, sure, but you've never done anything but make me happy, okay?"

Patrick nods and buries his face in Kenny's chest. Fuck, he's never wanted his kid to feel anything remotely as horrible as not being wanted, even if he's only been feeling it for the last few hours. With a new sense of determination, Kenny drops Patrick with Karen much more quickly than he'd originally intended. She gives him a world of grief for running off so soon, but Kenny has bigger problems. He kisses Patrick goodbye, offers Karen a friendly flip of the bird, and runs all the way back to his car. Panting and wheezing, he speeds back home to let Butters in on exactly what their kid had gathered from their little talk the night before.

When it becomes apparent that Butters isn't down working in the basement office-type room, and that he's finished washing up and doing his morning tidy of the living room, Kenny takes the stairs two at a time and stalks down the hallway in gigantic strides until he comes to their room, the door of which is open just a crack.

"Oh, son of a bitch," Kenny rolls his eyes and pushes the door open. Butters jumps, face all pink and eyes all glossy, because the fucker's been all spread out on their bed and pulling his pud like he doesn't have a ready-and-willing boyfriend to do it for him. Whatever's been on Kenny's mind is suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that Butters _hasn't_ stopped moving his hand, and that his glazed-over pleasure face his now drawn up in a smile. Fucking kinky bastard actually gets off on being caught.

"He-hey, darlin'," Butters laughs as Kenny just stands there and watches him for a few seconds.

"So when did we become this couple?" Kenny asks as he strips himself of his sweater and pulls off his boots.

"What couple?" Butters asks and props himself up, his hand working slowly over himself. Good, that means he's only just started. Kenny laughs a little when Butters tells him, "Slow down, you're takin' all the fun out of it" and pulls his shirt over his head in as sexy a way as he can manage without making a total fool of himself. He trips a little over his pants as he pulls them off with his socks, and wonders why being sexy evades him when he's around Butters. That awkward teenage eagerness has worn off around just about everyone, at least it had back when he'd slept with other people, _except_ Butters. Something about Butters still just made him all jittery and yearning like a fucking fourteen-year-old. He leaves his boxers on, since Butters hasn't removed his shirt, and crawls onto the bed to bring Butters into a heated kiss.

"What're you thinking about?" Kenny asks before he catches Butters' bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Threesome," Butters replies breathily. "You, me, Mila Kunis? Circa Black Swan."

"Hot," Kenny grins and moves to remove Butters' hand from his dick. "What are we doing?"

Butters makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Kenny pins both of his wrists to the bed, denying him of any contact down below whatsoever. He's obviously thinking about it right now, becoming engrossed in both fantasy and the overwhelming urge to rub up against something.

"Come on," Kenny whispers and teases a lick over Butters' upper lip. "You've gotta tell me if you want me to touch you."

Butters whines again before he opens his eyes and stares Kenny right in the face. They're not exactly the type of couple that holds back in this department, and Kenny's always maintained that that's what keeps them going so strong. It's okay to admit that you want to fuck someone else, as long as it ends in the two of you humping like deranged, sex-starved rabbits. Butters is one of the few people Kenny's ever met who agrees with this sentiment, and is about as unabashed about his fantasies as Kenny is about his own.

"We're here," Butters licks at his lips. "I-I'm eating her out and you're behind me just… fu-fuckin' the shit outta me."

Kenny grins and wraps a hand around Butters' erection. It's shit like that that makes Kenny as proud as ever to call this man his boyfriend.

"How'd we get Mila Kunis into our house?" Kenny laughs as Butters groans and let his head fall back at the feeling of finally—_finally_—being touched.

"He-her car broke down an' she asked to use our phone," Butters sighs. "She's real sweet, incidentally."

"She'd have to be, yeah," Kenny nods. "I don't imagine we're very easy to fuck as a couple." Not that they have any frame of reference, mind, since every time Kenny proposes a foursome with dear old Stan and Kyle, Butters seems keen on systematically rejecting the idea, no matter how hot Kenny insists it would be.

"What do you want me to do to you?" Kenny asks now, thumbing over the head of Butters' cock.

"Fuck me," Butters replies simply, too simply for Kenny's tastes. He retracts his hand and brings it up to hold Butters' jaw, steadying him as he goes in for another kiss. Butters moans and fists his free hand in Kenny's hair, knowing full well that the lack of hand holding him back isn't a free invitation to touch himself. If anything, Kenny finds that the deprivation offers Butters a few more seconds of desperation in which to be as creative as possible. They have a whole drawer full of nothing but vibrators, dildos, cock rings, and various other toys, all courtesy of Kenny's job, and they've used almost every single one of them half a dozen times.

Mostly, though, they're alone for the first time in what seems like forever, even if Patrick was just with Bebe last weekend, and Kenny wants to take it for everything it's worth.

"Can you—" Butters gulps. "You wanna ride me?"

"Is that gonna make you come harder than anything else?" Kenny asks, because it is, after all, one of the most important questions one should consider. He pants out a laugh against Butters' lips when he nods vigorously. "Then fuck yeah, I do."

And also because he loves the feeling of Butters thrusting up into him as desperately as he does when they fuck that way.

Kenny makes quick work of his boxers and Butters' shirt after that, flinging them so that they knock over some unidentified object on the dresser. Kenny doesn't care, and he knows that Butters won't either until everything's said and done and they've fucked themselves silly. Then he'll roll out of bed even before they have a chance to sneak in a cuddle and pick up whatever it was that fell.

Until then, Kenny ducks down and runs his tongue and teeth over Butters' chest, eliciting a needy groan from the man below him. Any more time, Kenny knows, and Butters is going to fucking lose it, so Kenny does the responsible thing and opens the drawer on Butters' side of the bed, pulling out their supply of condoms and various types of lube, again, all courtesy of Kenny's job. He's a Maximus man himself, but Butters has always attested that Wet works just fine, and that it tastes much better. Whatever, when it's Butters' ass on the line, he can pick the strawberry passion fruit cherry poppin' pizzazz bullshit—Kenny's gonna stick to the stuff that makes him feel good.

"Want me to?" Butters asks, making to grab the lube out of Kenny's hand, but Kenny silences him with a kiss. Not that he doesn't love it when Butters does this for him, Butters is just very thorough and it always takes a thousand years for him to do what Kenny can do in just a few minutes. So, Kenny squirts a generous amount of the slick liquid onto his fingers and reaches behind himself. He flinches a bit upon entry, but sighs and rests his forehead against Butters' shoulder as he works himself open at a happy ryhthm. Butters is sitting up now, watching Kenny like he's about to eat him or something, and very insistently pulls his hand away when it becomes apparent that Kenny's done stretching himself and is now just going at it for shits and giggles.

Butters fiddles with the condom between his fingers, getting it on with only a little less grace than usual before he positions himself against Kenny's entrance. They kiss, heated and sloppy and absolutely lost in each other as Kenny sinks down. When Kenny opens his eyes he's met with the most incredible sight of Butters staring dazedly back at him and they kiss again. They start moving against each other, slowly at first until Kenny pushes Butters by the shoulders onto his back, pinning him down and kissing him senseless. Butters compensates for his lack of upper body mobility by thrusting up wildly into the tight heat of Kenny's body.

"Fuck, baby," Kenny groans, resting his forehead against Butters' shoulder again.

"Fuck yourself," Butters gives a euphoric little grin at his own joke and Kenny has to laugh back. Butters' fingernails are digging into his hips, his dick is stretching him to that thinly veiled limit between pleasure and pain, and Kenny fucking loves every second of it. He bites down on Butters' collarbone when he falls into a rhythm that has him hitting Kenny's prostate on just about every other thrust. Butters must know he's holding back—it's hard not to when you have to get used to fucking with a kid lurking around the house who has to be half ninja or some shit—so he grabs Kenny's dick and starts stroking rapidly against his own thrusts. Kenny lets out an embarassingly loud moan and after that all bets are off. A few more thrusts upward and a couple more tugs finds Kenny coming all over Butters' hand. Butters follows quickly, throwing his head back and snapping his hips up until he's left spent and panting with Kenny on his chest.

They roll off of each other after a few minutes, Butters tossing the used condom into the trash can they've started keeping beside the bed and Kenny running his hand over his spent, sensitive cock, like he's eighteen and ready to go again. Sometimes it's just a comfort to hold himself in his hand, without an agenda, just for a few minutes.

"Patrick with Karen?" Butters asks as he rolls over and throws an arm across Kenny's waist.

"No, he's downstairs," Kenny shoots back sarcastically, "figured he'd like to hear his dear old dads fuck the shit out of each other as the cherry on top of whatever the fuck it is you told him last night."

"What'd I tell him?" Butters yawns.

"I don't know," Kenny sighs and rubs his hands over his face. "But whatever it was made him think I didn't want him or some bullshit."

"What?" Butters sits up, eyebrows knit together high on his forehead. "Kenny, honest, I-I didn't say anythin' like that."

"Fuck, I know," Kenny sits up and pulls his knees in close to his chest. He's a little tender, for obvious reasons, but Butters' look of concern is more than enough to distract him from it. "He said you said I was tired and upset all the time."

"You were," Butters points out, concern still not gone from his voice. "But I told him everything turned out fine a-an' he's gotta know that anyway—"

"Right, everything turns out fine," Kenny nods and buries his face in his hands. "And apparently now our kid thinks I didn't even fucking want him."

"But he _knows_ you do now," Butters points out and lays a hand on his shoulder.

"You know what, fuck you," Kenny shrugs away and stands. "He loves you more anyway, so don't ever start."

"Aw, Jesus," Butters groans and flops back on the bed. They're not actually mad at each other—in fact, Kenny can count on one hand the number of times they've actually been upset with each other in the last seven years—but if there's one thing that they try to do it's get everything out in the open as soon as possible. Kenny's always the one to throw the first punch, so to speak, while Butters tries to run and hide, to sweep everything under the rug like he's his fucking mother. After a while they'd realized that no one was actually mad, things had gotten a little easier.

But only a little.

"Sorry," Kenny apologizes and crosses his arms over his chest. His parents never apologized to each other, which means that it must be the right thing to do.

"Darlin', Patrick loves you just as much as he loves me," Butters sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "You think he'd be upset, thinkin' you didn't want him if he didn't?"

Kenny falters just a bit before slumping entirely and falling back onto the bed, where Butters climbs on top of him and holds him close.

"He doesn't even know how fucking hard I fought to keep him, dude," Kenny says, his voice closer to breaking than he'll ever admit. Butters can hear it anyway, and kisses the back of Kenny's neck in a loving sort of way that makes Kenny never want to leave their bed again.

"I didn't tell him 'cause I thought you'd want to," Butters murmurs against his skin. "That's something that should come from you, not me."

Kenny rolls over underneath Butters' embrace and looks up at his earnest and boyish face. He runs his fingers through his hair, still a little damp with sex and sweat, and brings him down into a kiss. Kenny knows he could wake up next to this man for the rest of his life and still want to kiss the lips right off of his face as much as he did when they were kids.

"And if he doesn't believe you when you tell him," Butters says, "he can ask anyone in the tri-county area, 'cause you've brought down fuckin' _hellfire_ for that boy on several occasions."

"True," Kenny nods, only to have Butters smile and kiss him again.

"You're a good dad, Charlie Brown."


	11. Chapter 9

Hey guys, big stuff coming up. So... ye be warned.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. I adore you and you make my days when I see your feedback.

* * *

><p>The funny thing about being an adult and having responsibilities was that time started whizzing by after a while. When the time had rolled around, Butters had started tutoring kids through South Park Elementary to supplement a little bit of income (in spite of Kenny's best efforts to convince him that he didn't have to); Kenny had started taking on more and more hours at the shop, filling in for his boss when he couldn't be there and taking on his responsibilities when his wife took a turn for the worse. Butters had gotten almost everything from his parents' house, and aside from weekly family dinners his mother made him attend, he tried not to see or talk to them. Deciding that, since they'd resumed a more… <em>physical<em> relationship, both Kenny and Butters agreed that it would be prudent to set some boundaries. This meant that Butters had taken to setting up his own space in Kenny's rather unused basement.

He'd gotten himself a bed, some space heaters, a desk, and even a little TV for when he couldn't sleep and he needed some Home Shopping Network. He'd plastered the walls with some old posters he'd found, some from school and others his mom had once asked him to take down in his formative teenage years, had brought in a few rugs to make the place a little more homey, and when all was said and done, Butters was very proud of himself. Kenny had been so impressed that he'd felt the need to congratulate Butters on his accomplishments with a fantastic bout of marathon sex. This, of course, had ended with them both exhausted and panting on Butters' cheap hundred-dollar Craigslist mattress, pretending that this wasn't going to become a regular occurrence.

But even if they were fucking on a regular basis, Butters didn't quite consider what they had to be a relationship. He'd had relationships by now, a few actually, and knew what it took to make one. This wasn't one.

If this were a relationship, Kenny wouldn't say 'nothing' when Butters asked what was bothering him. If this were a relationship, Kenny would've shared things with him, because Butters had spent his life making it abundantly clear that people could trust him with anything. Emotionally, Kenny and Butters were about at the exact same place they'd been nearly six months ago.

That wasn't a relationship: that was just fucking someone you used to know.

Fuck, they used sex for everything, especially to avoid fights. Kenny using cold water to wash his dishes turned into Butters sucking his dick right there against the kitchen counter; Butters putting things away in their improper places turned into Kenny fucking him right against the wall; Kenny's tendency to obsess over every little scratch his son managed to get, Butters flippant attitude toward strangers touching Patrick (who, at eleven months old was proving to be quite the people person), all of it always ended in sex. Not exactly healthy, but… goddamn it, Kenny sucked like a fucking Hoover when he was angry and he had a collection—a fucking _collection _—of vibrating tongue rings.

No, this wasn't a relationship, so Butters didn't hesitate to tell his mom that, no, he didn't have any plans for Christmas and would be happy to spend it with his family.

"Oh, honey," Linda had said in that pitying tone. "We thought you were going to spend it with Kenny… your father and I are taking a cruise to the Caribbean that whole week."

Apparently, working steadily over the last two decades, his father had accrued enough vacation time and enough wealth to swindle his way into taking vacations every few months. Most of these vacations included opportunities to wear kitschy Hawaiian shirts, socks with sandals, and oversized sunglasses. Butters didn't realize that, in coming home, he'd effectively branded himself 'cat sitter' for the rest of his natural born life. It was kind of shitty, Butters wasn't going to lie.

Kenny, however, couldn't stop laughing.

"What the fuck does your family even do on Christmas?" he asked. "Is it just the three of you sitting around and staring at each other?"

Butters rolled his eyes as he laced up his ice skates. They were at Stark's Pond, taking Kenny's nieces ice skating like Kenny had been promising they would for the last three weeks, and Butters had come along because, unlike Kenny, he actually had some semblance of grace up on the ice.

It really gave the phrase 'gayer than Peter Pan in a pair of ice skates' a whole new meaning.

"Usually it's me an' my mom goin' to midnight mass," Butters replied and stood, brushing the snow off of his backside and sliding out onto the ice. The older girls were already out on the pond, laughing and shrieking as they lost and regained their balance, while the little one sat back with Karen and Patrick on a bench. Kenny pushed himself up and skated out on shaky legs into Butters' open arms.

"You—fucking_ Christ—_" he interjected as one of his skates slipped out from underneath him. Butters caught him before he could fall and stood him upright. "Thanks. You still go to midnight mass with your mom?"

"Well, not in recent years, no," Butters shook his head, skating a little further back. "But I figured I was gonna do it this year, because she told me last year that my dad stopped goin' with her while I wasn't here."

"Maybe that's why they're—_shit _—maybe that's why they're going on a cruise this year," Kenny offered as he started to get the hang of the skates. "Fucking rich people."

"We're not rich," Butters frowned, skating now in actual circles around Kenny as he tried to adjust.

"This is their second vacation this year," Kenny pointed out. "And they always go for a long fucking time. If that's not rich… I can't even finish that, because that's _fucking rich_."

"We're _comfortable,_" Butters iterated.

"_They're_ comfortable, baby," Kenny corrected through a smile. "You? You're poor as shit."

Butters stuck out his tongue and caught Kenny again before he could fall. Okay, sure, anyone walking by would have mistaken them for a couple (or, as Linda Stotch had made clear dozens of times over the last few months, just really good friends without any sexual agenda whatsoever), but anyone walking by could go fuck themselves.

Or the sentiment's more polite equivalent.

"Uncle Kenny, why are you so slow?" Ashley called, and Butters knew it took every ounce of strength within Kenny not to give his automatic "fuck off" response. Butters pulled him up to standing, and told him very softly to ignore Karen's incessant jibes from back on the bench.

"Why's everyone being such a bitch today?" Kenny asked back, all hushed like he and Butters were coconspirators, them against the rest of the alleged bitch-ass world. It's stuff like that that makes Butters want to kiss him, right out in broad daylight.

It's also apparently stuff like that that gets them both nailed in the side of the head with crudely made snowballs.

"Fuckin' kids," Kenny muttered and looked over his shoulder. Ike was waving at them, now standing by the bench with Patrick in his arms as Karen took to playing a game of hide-and-seek with Olivia. Butters just flipped Ike the bird and grabbed Kenny by the hand, pulling him along and making sure he didn't fall. Not that it was an easy task, mind, since Kenny had the grace of a newborn foal in general, but Butters was more than willing to keep that pretty face out of harm's way.

"Uncle Kenny!" Madison skated over and grabbed onto his other hand. "Uncle Kenny, wanna see me do a figure eight?"

"Oh, honey, I'll watch you do anything as long as I don't have to do it too," Kenny laughed and grabbed onto Butters' coat when he slipped again. Madison gave them a calculating stare when Butters laughed and pulled Kenny close to him.

"Are you two guys boyfriends?" she asked. Butters and Kenny looked at her, both with utter surprise as she tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder and folded her arms. "It's okay. My friend Kiara has two moms."

"Oh, I bet your dad loves that," Kenny snorted and leaned his forehead against Butters'. Butters looked out of the corner of his eye at Madison, who was staring at them a little expectantly, and pecked Kenny on the lips.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Butters looked over at her and draped an arm around Kenny's shoulders. "But keep it to yourself, all right? We're not gonna talk about it quite yet, all right? You good at keepin' secrets?"

"Yeah, I am," Madison nodded and then gave them a rather facetious grin. "You guys don't look like you are, though."

At which point, Kenny jabbed Butters in the side and attempted to skate away on his own. This, of course, turned out with Kenny face-down on the ice, followed by a barrage of laughs coming from all sides. Butters skated over and crouched beside him, telling Madison to practice until he could get Kenny up and running again.

"Y'okay, hoss?" Butters asked, offering a smile and a hand.

"I'm fine," Kenny grunted and pushed himself up onto all fours. Butters kept his snide comments to himself, but one look was all he needed to know Kenny knew exactly what he was thinking. "'the fuck are you telling her we're boyfriends for?"

Butters raised his eyebrows and folded his arms, popping his hip in the way he'd seen most of the tired caricatures of gay men do back at school as Kenny got himself standing again. He gave Kenny a few more seconds to retract the statement, but when it became very apparent that that wouldn't be happening he gave up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Well, it was obvious that there was somethin' goin' on between us an' I thought 'boyfriends' was easier than explainin' what a fuck buddy is at such a young age," he just said, which only made Kenny roll his eyes and stop skating.

"Don't fucking do that," he said.

"Do what?" Butters asked, voice all lofty and high like he didn't know what he was doing. Kenny sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"We're not… fuck buddies, dude," he said tightly. He was already tired of this conversation and they hadn't even had it yet.

"We're not boyfriends, we're not fuck buddies," Butters posed and began skating again. "Tell me what we are, Ken. Tell me a-an' I'll be happy to say it."

"Man, I don't fucking know," Kenny groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know I like having you around the house, and that you're the nicest guy I know, and that you totally put up with all of my shit that you don't have to, and… I don't know. I don't like the connotations of the word 'boyfriend'."

"Oo, 'connotations'," Butters said, eyes wide and nodding his head. "Four syllables. Good for you."

"Fuck you," Kenny laughed. "Dude, it's a weird word and it's a weird thing to be. I've never liked it, you know that."

"It's just a word, Kenny," Butters sighed and stopped skating right in front of him. "I-if you don't wanna be boyfriends, that's fine. Just gimme somethin', all right?"

"God, everything's so fucking black and white with you," Kenny sighed. He was fiddling with his lip ring, which meant that he must have been having some internal war for the ages up in that brain of his. Butters just huffed and stared at him, halfway between wanting to slap him and wanting to hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he'd stick by him no matter what.

Because he would. That was the horrible part.

"I don't want anything," Kenny said, frowning as he tried to skate away. This, of course, just ended with him flat on his ass again. Butters crouched, not to help him, but to continue looking at him like he was some geat puzzle to solve. As a rule, Kenny was generally impervious to that look, but something about it coming from Butters seemed to crack his resolve and make him cave. What was worse, it appeared that Kenny understood that Butters knew what this look did to him, enough at least to say "don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" Butters blinked, attempting an air of innocence that only seemed to earn him a raised eyebrow and a very, _very_ cold hand to the face that threw off his balance and pushed him back onto the ice.

"Look, I don't know what I want in terms of a fucking Facebook status, all right?" Kenny said, brow furrowed as he came close to Butters. "I just know that I want you around, and that I like having you around, and that you have the _finest_ ass I've ever seen—"

"Thanks," Butters rolled his eyes.

"Would you just shut the fuck up and listen to me for a second?" Kenny groaned and rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ… you're more than just some guy I fuck, you _know_ that."

"But not a boyfriend?" Butters nodded and pursed his lips. "That makes sense."

"Goddamn it," Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're so fucking dense sometimes. I _want_ to be with you. The word 'boyfriend' just kind of… rubs me the wrong way."

Butters paused, a frown etched into his face as he pushed himself up off of the ice (most of himself wet and numb now), and said "A-at the risk of soundin'… what was it, dense? At the risk of soundin' dense, can I say: it's just a word, Ken. You wanna be boyfriends, but you don't wanna call each other boyfriends. That's what you're sayin', right? You'd rather sit here arguin' semantics for the rest of our lives than bite the bullet a-an' admit you wanna be my boyfriend? Pardon my F-french on this one, b-but that's fucked, Kenny."

"Fuck, dude, this isn't exactly the time or the place," Kenny managed to push himself back up onto his feet.

"I agree," Butters shrugged.

"Then can we—" he was cut off by the sound of his cell phone blaring in his pocket and gave Butters a look. Apparently, he'd just lucked out of getting an earful. Butters stuck out his tongue again and started skating in small, tight figure eights, looking from Kenny's nieces to Kenny, to Ike and Karen, and all over again. Normally, Kenny would've told him to fuck off and stop being a show-off by now.

Except whoever was on the phone with him looked to be delivering some deeply upsetting news. It was at that point that Butters stopped showing off, much to the dismay of Kenny's nieces, and skated back over to him.

"No, of course," he heard Kenny reply. "Yeah. I understand. I'm… I'm really sorry."

"What happened?" Butters whispered softly. He hated when people got these kinds of phone calls and they didn't even have the decency to repeat whatever the person on the other line was saying. Privacy was way overrated anyway.

"Yeah," Kenny said, still on the phone as he tried to swat Butters' question away. "Yeah, it's all made up and waiting for you. Just… take it easy, okay? We'll see you soon. Yeah… yeah, you too."

Kenny shut his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, looking a little like he couldn't process what had just happened. Then he turned over to Butters with this vacant look on his face and folded his arms.

"I guess Bebe's grandma just died," Kenny said, like he was announcing that she'd lost her dog or something. "She's getting the okay from her professors to take her break early and she's flying out tonight."

"O-oh my God," Butters put a hand over his heart. "Is she okay?"

"She was crying, so no, probably not," Kenny shook his head and pushed the hood of his parka back so he could run his fingers through the back of hair. "She's staying with us tonight and then bringing Patrick with her up to her grandpa's tomorrow morning with her parents."

"Yeah," Butters nodded. He knew Kenny could give a crap about Bebe's grandma—no, that look of despair on Kenny's face was due to the fact that Patrick would be away from him for the first time in the last eleven months. He pulled Kenny into a hug and gave him a little kiss just under his ear, on that little spot that under other circumstances drove him absolutely insane.

"I think… fuck, I think I'm gonna go home," Kenny pulled away, wobbling as he let himself slide back toward the bank of snow. "You should stay and skate with the girls. Since Karen can't, I mean. They shouldn't be out here alone."

Butters rolled his eyes and skated over to where Kenny had just fallen back into the snow.

"Why the hell wouldn't I come with you?" he asked and flopped back down to take off his skates. If Kenny wanted to protest, he certainly didn't make that much fuss to do so, and in fact looked a little bit like he almost maybe wanted to smile. Butters knocked one of his knees against Kenny's and smiled back in the way that you're supposed to do when you're being a loving and supportive friend.

"Uncle Kenny, what are you doing?" Ashley asked as she and her sister skated over. "We were gonna do a fabulous ice princess dance for you and Uncle Butters."

Butters felt his cheeks color a little. Yeah, he'd been around a lot for the last few months, but that hardly qualified him to be anyone's 'uncle', right? He'd accepted the fact that he wouldn't ever be someone's uncle in the way that Kenny was, and tried to tell himself that he was cool with it.

Only hearing it was just a little overwhelming.

"I-I'm just Butters, girls," he said, looking over at Kenny out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," Kenny nodded, speaking more to himself and Butters than the girls as he laced up his boots. "Uncle Butters sounds like someone who makes little kids solve puzzles in the nude in his basement."

Butters snorted, but mostly attempted to keep his reaction to himself just in case the girls caught on and asked him to explain.

"What are we supposed to call you, then?" Madison asked, that knowing look behind her eyes again.

"Just call me Butters, girls," Butters gave a little smile as he pulled on his snow boots.

"But you're—" Ashley began only for Madison to put a hand over her mouth and frown at her.

"I wasn't supposed to tell you, remember?" she whispered.

"It's just Butters, girls," Butters laughed and stood. He held out a hand for Kenny, which he took, and pulled him up to standing. They walked back up to Karen and Ike, Kenny making up a feeble excuse for their early departure if only because Karen would make a big deal of the truth and Kenny didn't really feel like dealing with that right now. Kenny assured Karen he'd give her a call later and left without saying much else. Butters could only offer her a little shrug before he went to follow Kenny, Patrick wriggling and making idle protests of 'no-no-no!' in his arms like he didn't appreciate the fact that Butters was carrying him.

They drove back to the house without saying much of anything, their only soundtrack being Butters' iPod stuck firmly on its Christmas playlist. After about the third Bing Crosby song, Kenny switched off the entire system entirely and stared fixedly ahead. For the most part, Butters didn't take things like that personally. When Kenny got into one of his moods, it was just kind of expected that he was going to be a pissy little fucker until further notice.

When they got back to the house, Kenny immediately went to put Patrick down for a nap while Butters went down into his little cave to curl up with his computer and watch TV. He probably should've tried to talk to Kenny, but he really, really hated when things got so tense between them. It didn't happen too often, but it was always palpable, the only thing between them besides the sex that wasn't half-assed.

He got about fifteen minutes into a History Channel special about Nostradamus before he decided that whatever was on Bravo would better serve his purposes and fell asleep to one of his favorite episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker. He was only vaguely aware of his dream, which definitely involved Kenny, poor and dirty, begging for cash on what his brain had pieced together as a street in Brazil (but what actually looked like a Disneyland, It's-a-Small-World rendition of some fictional street that didn't actually exist). Butters wasn't entirely sure of what had gone down from there, only that he woke at the exact moment he and dream-Kenny had started running from a vicious gang of drug lords. He felt an unbelievable air of calm wash over him when he saw Kenny beside him, crouched down and looking at Butters like he was crazy.

"You were thrashing, I figured I'd wake you," Kenny said and climbed onto the mattress so he could stretch out beside Butters.

"How long have I been out?" Butters rubbed the sleep from his eyes and attempted to stifle a big yawn.

"Beats the shit out of me," Kenny shrugged and rolled over just as Butters sat up to see which episode in the perpetual marathon of Matchmaker was flitting across the screen. He flopped back down and let Kenny cuddle into him entirely.

"Two hours," he said as he started playing with Kenny's hair. "What've you been doing?"

"Cleaning?" Kenny yawned in response, like he had the option of being wrong. Butters just hummed and kissed him on the top of the head.

"That means I have to go up and actually clean, doesn't it?" he asked, laughing when Kenny grabbed his nipple ring through his shirt and twisted. They kissed after that, slick and lazy that ended in Kenny sucking on Butters' tongue like there was no tomorrow. Butters didn't stop him when he undid his pants, or when he leaned down and took him into his mouth, and he sure as fuck didn't stop him when it became apparent that this was going to be the only thing they were doing. As much as he loved fucking or getting fucked by Kenny, he was a _master_ of oral sex, and not appreciating it would be not unlike spitting on the Mona Lisa and loudly wondering 'why the fuck this smug bitch thinks she's so much better than everyone'.

They emerged from the basement a while later, partially because they were done but mostly because they heard Patrick crying and Kenny wanted to get a few good hours with him before Bebe took him up to Loveland the next morning. Butters started making dinner, even though they hadn't been to the store yet this week and there really wasn't much to scrape together.

"It's gonna be sparse tonight," Butters sighed as he flopped down next to Kenny and Patrick on the couch. Kenny looked over at him, one eyebrow high on his forehead as Patrick followed his dad's gaze to look at Butters too.

"Dude, trust me," he said. "Your worst is far superior to the 'best' I'm used to."

"Well," Butters retracted, folding his arms across his chest as Patrick wriggled out of Kenny's arms and into Butters' lap. "I wouldn't call it my _worst_."

"Then shut the fuck up," Kenny shrugged and pushed a kiss to Butters' cheek. Then he ran his fingers through Patrick's hair—though still scant was starting to come in at a quicker and quicker rate seemingly every day—and rested his head on Butters' shoulder. Patrick looked at the both of them with a big smile on his face and ducked forward to slide into the space between their bodies. Then, like he'd just delivered the punch line to a joke, looked up at both Kenny and Butters and started laughing.

"Jeez, what a dork," Butters snorted and let Patrick grab his fingers. "You like hangin' with your dad, huh?"

"Well, dad likes hangin' with him, so it's not a problem," Kenny said and kissed Patrick on the top of the head. Patrick was at the incessant babbling stage of his babyhood, at which point he thought he was making sense and communicating with the adults around him but was in fact, with the exception of the words uh-oh, no, and mama, speaking complete and utter gibberish.

Except when he said the word 'daddy' and smiled up at them, they both paused. Patrick had been able to string together the two syllables for as long as Butters could remember, but until now he'd never said it with the clear understanding that he'd just displayed. Kenny looked at Butters and gave a laugh.

"Holy shit," he grinned, eyes wide like it was the most amazing thing he'd ever heard. "Did he—"

"He did," Butters laughed and stood to go check on his macaroni noodles. "Congratulations, you're officially 'daddy'."

Kenny laughed again and pulled Patrick into his lap so he could push a kiss to his cheek. Butters couldn't help his grin as he kept hearing Patrick's emphatic repetition, 'daddy-daddy-daddy' over and over again. He'd been calling Bebe 'mama' over Skype for the last month and a half, and Kenny, against Butters insistence that he didn't, had been taking it about as personally as a guy could.

"Wait, what the hell?" Butters heard Kenny ask. He turned around and saw Patrick, red in the face with that pending temper tantrum look, trying to wriggle away from Kenny and reaching for Butters, still repeating his mantra of 'daddy-daddy-daddy' as Kenny attempted to keep him in place.

Daddy.

Patrick was calling him 'daddy'.

Oh _fuck_.

Butters could only imagine his face—all guilty, deer-in-the-headlights as Kenny looked at him with a strange mix of realization, hurt, and utter desperation on his face.

"Kenny, I—"

"Are you fucking serious?" Kenny asked, and Butters knew it was more of a question directed at the universe or God or whoever than him, but… Kenny was looking at Butters not unlike he'd looked at Eric Cartman when he'd taught his Furby to say 'Butters is a butt pirate'.

Oh God.

Oh _Jesus._

Butters had broken Kenny's Furby.

He watched as Kenny put Patrick down on the couch and, truthfully, his first instinct had been to run. He didn't have a brother like Kenny did—if a fight broke out, he was going to lose on sheer ineptitude, not to mention lack of fighting spirit.

"Eleven months," Kenny said, voice dangerously low as he left Patrick's range of hearing. "Eleven months of giving a hundred and fifty percent to that kid, and you're 'dad'."

"Kenny, I know you're upset," Butters replied softly, tentatively reaching out to put his hands on Kenny's shoulders. Kenny just threw him off and, like he realized he was already getting carried away, fisted his hands in his hair and pulled.

"No," he said very frankly. "Know what, Butters? You don't know. Know why? Because you're not his fucking father!" Kenny shouted the last bit, making Butters retract even more and look down at the floor. He knew Kenny was upset, but he also knew that no matter how mad he got, Kenny wouldn't ever hurt him. Kenny was very aware of himself in that respect, that he could be rough without meaning it, just because that was the way he'd been raised, because that was how people in his family were with each other. Butters knew that Kenny would never hurt anyone like that.

Of course, there was knowing, and then there was seeing the way Kenny was wriggling, the way he was biting his lip and getting all red in the face like he wanted nothing more than to hit the thing closest to him.

"Kenny, I don—I don't think this is my fault," Butters said very softly.

"I know it's not!" Kenny snapped back. "God fucking damn it, you think I'm just some idiot piece of fucking white trash who can't put two fucking coherent thoughts together?"

"No," Butters squeaked out and shook his head, still not looking at Kenny.

"And don't look away like I'm gonna fucking hit you if you make eye contact with me!" Kenny shouted again. "I'm not my dad, asshole."

"I know you're not," Butters replied, chancing a look up. He knew Kenny wouldn't hurt him, Kenny just had a very emotional face and Butters didn't want to see how hurt he was. He hated that he could hurt Kenny like that, even if he still wasn't entirely sure that this was his fault. Patrick was crying now, screaming at the top of his lungs like babies did when they sensed that something was awry. Kenny looked Butters dead in the eye, almost as though he was daring him to go tend to Patrick before he could. As a result, Butters didn't move, and Patrick went on crying.

"Well?" Kenny posed, gesturing to the front room with his arms. "Aren't you going to tend to _your_ son?"

And there was something in the way he said it, something so filled with scorn and hatred and _accusation_ that something inside Butters just snapped.

"What the fuck is goin' on up there, huh?" Butters pointed at Kenny's head. "You think I sit around tryin' to get him to call me 'dad'? I'm twenty-two years old, you think I _want _some kid callin' me 'daddy'? Why the fuck do you think I stopped sleepin' with women? So I wouldn't become the dead-behind-the-eyes, mopey dickhead piece of white trash _you've _turned into, you angry Irish shithead."

Kenny was stunned, and for a moment looked a little like he was snapped back into himself, like he'd open his mouth and apologize, unsure of what came over him, and everything would be back to the way it was.

Only this was actually happening, and Butters realized only a little too late that he may have been out of line.

"Dude, what the fuck, that's not cool," Kenny said, a little more hurt surfacing on his face. Only this time, Butters didn't feel that familiar sinking stone of guilt in his gut. He was glad Kenny was hurting, glad that he'd made him feel even remotely as awful as he'd just made Butters feel only moments ago. It felt… good.

"Well, if the shoe fits," Butters just shrugged. That seemed to renew the fire behind Kenny's eyes.

"You're fucking kidding me," Kenny spat. "After all this, _you're_ giving _me _shit? Yeah, that seems pretty fucking fair."

"Oh, why don't you go knock back a few with the boys before you try and put me in my place, darlin'?" Butters shot back, shaking his head. "You'll never have the fucking stones to hit me sober."

Kenny was gone after that. Butters wasn't entirely sure how the events had transpired exactly, since most of what happened after the words had come out of his mouth had been drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in his ears and the feeling that his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Patrick was still crying, even harder now after Kenny had slammed the door. Butters went to pick him up off of the couch and tried to soothe him, but it wasn't working.

He couldn't have known what they'd said, right? He couldn't have known that one stupid, little word had turned Kenny into an anger management case and Butters into every catty gay stereotype ever. God, and if he did, at least Butters prayed that he didn't think it was his fault.

Not that babies could process abstract ideas like culpability, but still.

"It's okay," Butters tried to say, even tried to hum some of that songs that Kenny always used to sing him to sleep, but it didn't work. Eventually he wore himself out, no thanks to anything Butters had attempted, and fell asleep, sucking his thumb, in Butters' arms.

Butters tiptoed up the stairs and down to Kenny's room, only instead of putting him in his crib he put him on Kenny's bed and curled up beside him. Patrick stirred a little at that and snuggled underneath Kenny's favorite blanket, a giant fleece throw he'd found at a garage sale a couple years ago. The dank smell had long since worn off, and it now smelled exclusively of Kenny. Butters always found himself curling up underneath it when he took naps on the couch because, even though they shouldn't have been, the faint smells of cigarettes, spearmint gum, and guy all soaked into the fibers of that blanket never failed to comfort him. Kenny's smell always comforted him, though, ever since he could remember.

Apparently, it worked for Patrick too.

Butters hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep, face buried in Kenny's pillow, until his cell phone started ringing at top volume. Butters answered it as quickly as possible, careful to look and make sure Patrick was still asleep.

"Hello?"

"Hey sweetheart," Bebe answered back. "Uh, I keep trying to call Kenny, but he's not answering. My plane landed half an hour ago and he's supposed to be here to pick me up. Tell me he just forgot his phone and not the mother of his child."

At which point Butters felt his face scrunch up in that way it did when tears were inevitable and all you could do was wait. He started crying and immediately told Bebe everything, paired with a lot of sobs and hiccups and _shit_, he didn't think he was actually this upset.

Except how couldn't he be. He'd been awful.

They both had been.

"Honey, don't even worry about it," Bebe said, very obviously frazzled but with that 'nothing-I-can't-handle' attitude that made poor, sad saps like Butters wonder just how in the hell she actually managed to operate on such a highly functional level. "Annie goes to school up here, it's the weekend, she'll be able to give me a ride. Take a few deep breaths, go watch some TV, I'll be there in a few hours and we'll talk, okay?"

"O-okay," Butters nodded and hung up, drawing his legs up and resting his forehead on his knees as he let himself cry for a little while longer. Her fucking grandma had just died and she was still going to sit there and listen to his problems.

Jesus, maybe he _should_ get back into the business of sleeping with women.

He spent the next few hours downstairs, ass glued to the couch, eyes glued to a showing of Titanic, and hand glued to a pint of rocky road ice cream that he'd bought in some weird anticipation of feeling like absolute shit. Around one in the morning, Butters' phone rang, this time with the familiar sound of Kenny's self-assigned ringtone of James Brown's "Hot Pants."

"Hey," Butters answered, wanting nothing more than for Kenny to sound as utterly devastated and broken as Butters felt.

"Hey, yeah," came Kyle's tired, nasaly voice. He must've had a cold or something. "I'm gonna need you to come scrape this fucking mess off of the floor of my basement because I'm not doing this shit again."

"What?" Butters asked, sitting up now.

"You know," Kyle gave a sardonic laugh, "it's fucking shit like this that I try to warn him about and he never listens to me. Now he's cross-faded as fuck and dry-humping my drunk-ass boyfriend in my basement. Because you're a total fuckhead."

"Hey!" Butters snapped. "Don't you turn this i-inta somethin' that's my fault."

"It _is_ your fault, Butters," Kyle pointed out. "You basically told him he was his dickhole dad, and it's not your fault? Grown the fuck up, Butters."

Butters could hear Kenny in the background, singing his name and speaking some gibberish language that Butters couldn't understand. Butters stood, a little disparaged at the fact that he'd apparently eaten an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting, and went to grab the car keys off of the hook.

"How'd he get there?" Butters wondered aloud.

"I came and picked him up when he told me what the fuck happened," Kyle said over a little commotion on the other end. "Jesus Christ, dude!"

"_Alo_ there, lover," came Kenny's rather drunken slur. "_Como vai?_"

"Kenny, honey," Butters said very cautiously, "are you all right?"

"_Tudo bom_," Kenny said in a very reassuring voice. "Listen, _quierido_, I want you—are you listening?"

"Yeah, I think so," Butters furrowed his brow. He didn't understand half of what he was saying, but he'd go along with it.

"I want you to," he began. "Go… go into my closet and—are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Butters nodded, getting a little impatient now. "Tell me what the fuck you're gonna say."

"Okay, okay, calm down," Kenny said, like Butters was the one who was drunk off of his ass. "Listen, Kyle's being a fucking hard-on because I told Stan he has a ni—a nice ass."

"Yeah…" Butters said, waiting for more.

"He does, doesn't he?"

"Kenny!" Butters snapped. "I'm supposed to go into your closet… and what?"

"Oh!" Kenny exclaimed. "Go into my closet and… there's a loose floorboard under that box where I keep all those DVDs. Y'know, my porn?"

"I'm aware, yeah," Butters nodded. "What am I lookin' for?"

"There's more DVDs under there," Kenny slurred. "An' I want—I think you should watch them. They'll make you… you see."

"Kenny, I don't wanna watch porn," Butters whined. "I wanna know you're okay. I-I wanna tell you how s-sorry I am, a-an'—"

"Fuck that!" Kenny said, a touch of valiance behind his voice, like he was charging into battle. "I'll be fine. Stan told me he'll… that he and Kyle will house me tonight."

"The fuck I will!" Butters heard Kyle call from somewhere close by. "Get your ass over here, Butters, before I murder your fucking boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Kenny said, in that same tone that suited a general going into battle rather than a drunken idiot. "He's the father of my child."

"Shit," Butters rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll be right there, okay? Just stay put and for fuck's sake, don't do anything to Stan's ass."

"Watch the DVDs," Kenny insisted. "It's your _homework_, college boy. There will be… a _pop quiz_ when you get here. And the punishment for failure will be severe."

"All right," Butters sighed.

"And by severe," Kenny interjected. "I mean that your ass will incur a severe pounding… with my cock."

"I got it, thanks," Butters nodded. "Tell Kyle I'm on my way."

Butters hung up, despite hearing Kenny's vehement chanting of 'DVDs' over and over, and ran upstairs. His initial plan had been to wake Patrick and get him into the car so they could go get Kenny as soon as possible, preferably before Bebe got there, but…

Butters' eyes darted over to the closet and, for the life of him, he couldn't look away. Figuring that Kyle could wait a little while longer, Butters went into the closet and shifted over the rather weighty box of DVDs and tapes that made up only apparently a portion of Kenny's porn collection. Sure enough, there was a loose floorboard, under which Kenny had stowed about half a dozen DVDs, all knock-offs and all in flimsy little paper envelopes. They weren't even marked.

Now entirely intrigued, Butters practically ran down the stairs and popped a random one into the DVD player. He couldn't even bring himself to sit back on the couch—just kneeled in front of the TV and watched as some title credits rolled in a language he couldn't understand.

And then there was Kenny, standing in the middle of a cheap-looking room with his hands on his hips, speaking in his painfully white-washed accent in whatever language this was, whatever language he'd been speaking on the phone.

Fuck, it was probably Portuguese. He appeared to be answering someone's questions, looking off to the side of the camera and laughing right alongside the native speakers, like he was just as funny and charming as he was in English.

And then he started unbuttoning his pants and reaching into his underwear, cupping himself with that euphoric smile on his face he always got when he first touched himself after waiting too long. Immediately Butters flicked off the TV set and threw the remote across the room.

Porn.

Kenny had been…

Kenny had been in porn.

In Brazil.

He scrambled back across the room and grabbed the remote to switch the TV back on. Kenny was on the bed now, spread out and touching himself and Butters couldn't. fucking. look. away. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he supposed came with seeing anyone you knew in this type of thing, but at least it was just him. Touching himself.

Goddamn it, Butters was getting hard.

Not that it should've been a surprise. If Kenny had been right in front of him, doing the same exact thing, Butters would've already been well on his way to ravishing him by now. He couldn't do that now, though. He had to sit there and watch Kenny jerk himself off without being able to help him out, or kiss him or, take over.

Shit, why was he getting so worked up over this? He reached into his sweat pants and gave himself a squeeze. Hey, it wasn't like he would be able to get through the bulk of what Kenny wanted him to get through with his dick begging to be touched, so he decided it would be best, in the name of science, to get himself off before he proceeded to the next scene.

The next scene was… a little harder to watch. Kenny was on his hands and knees throughout most of it, a guy railing into him from behind while he sucked another guy's dick. This is only difficult because Butters, when he imagines Kenny in this position, in this scenario, Butters is at the very least the guy getting his dick sucked. Mostly he likes to imagine himself as the guy fucking into Kenny, though, because he actually loves when Kenny lets him do that, because—

Because he was the only one Kenny had ever let do that. And there was this stranger, fucking Kenny without abandon, like his scrawny ass was something to be abused and not something to be loved and cared for like the wonderful gift from God that it was.

Butters registered the key in the lock of the front door about a second and a half too late, and there was Bebe, yelling and covering her eyes like she'd just seen horrors unspeakable. Honestly, with those fake, tight moans Kenny was making and the gratuitous black leg hair of the man pounding into him, she wasn't too far off.

"They say, what," Bebe began, "Bad things come in threes? Grandma dies, ride ditches me at the airport, see said ditcher in cheap foreign porn. Glad I got it all out of the way in one waking period."

"Di-did you know about this?" Butters asked, gesturing vaguely to the TV, where Kenny was now on a bed, legs thrown over this strange man's shoulders and moaning like it was the best thing he's ever felt. Butters took a little bit of satisfaction at the fact that the sounds were fake, contrived for effect. Kenny didn't moan when you fucked him like that—he grunted and swore and thrashed like he was about to be sent to Valhalla when you did it just right, and this guy obviously didn't know jack shit about doing Kenny right.

"I think so," Bebe replied, though she looked to be unsure as she came to sit on the floor beside Butters. "He mentioned he did a lot of fucking to make end's meet while he was in Brazil. I never realized that this was what he meant. Where did you find these?"

"In his closet," Butters sniffed and sat back. "He told me to watch 'em."

"Ew, why?" Bebe wrinkled her nose and leaned forward to further inspect the screen. "Jesus, he looks so fucking gone."

"Whaddya mean?" Butters asked.

"Well, look at his face, hon," Bebe pointed out when the camera came back up to focus on Kenny's face. "He's on something."

"Aw Jesus," Butters breathed and looked away. He could deal with seeing the sex, but Butters had known too many tweakers and crystal queens at school that had been swindled into doing shit like this for money. The thought of anyone taking advantage of Kenny really just made Butters' gut burn with fury. He knew Kenny was tough and that he could take care of himself, but the one or two times he'd seen him high—_high-_high, like on heroin or cocaine—it had been a lot of Butters taking care of him until he came down.

"Butters, are you okay?" Bebe asked. "If it's upsetting, God knows we don't need to keep watching it." She emphasized the point by clicking off the TV and started rubbing her hand over his back.

"Why—" Butters hiccupped. "Why the heck would he—I don't get it."

"He needed money," Bebe shrugged. "He's got a more flexible moral code than most of us."

"But he j-just le-left me," Butters felt his jaw seize up. He took a deep breath and focused and attempted to continue. "F-for that?"

"No," Bebe shook her head and brought Butters into a full hug now. Butters could feel how worn down and tired she was, just from the way her skin smelled and how limply she held him. Butters pulled back and ran his fingertips through his hair. He felt electric, over-stimulated by everything that had transpired over the last few hours, and even though he knew for a fact that he was tired, he wouldn't have been able to sleep if he'd tried.

"Was it re-really s-so bad w-w-w—" Butters clapped his hand over his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. His stammer hadn't been this bad in years, not since he'd locked himself in his room the weeks anteceding Kenny's disappearance and had tried to lie to his mom about why he wasn't eating.

"Sweetheart, he didn't leave you because he thought that would be better," Bebe yawned, trying to keep herself engaged. "You're not… you're not the only person who got left here."

"What're you talkin' about?" Butters frowned, watching as Bebe rolled to her feet and grabbed her bag off of the floor.

"Honey, I love you, but I'm tired as fuck," she yawned again. "So I'm gonna lay it out for you and then go upstairs and crash. He left you before you could leave him. Happy? Now go frolic."

He left...

Before Butters could leave him? When the hell had Butters left him? If anything, Butters had pledged his undying devotion—had made it clear that had he was in fact overcommitted when Kenny had, expectedly, started pulling away.

"Wait a second," Butters stood as he made to follow Bebe up the stairs. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Butters," Bebe turned around, obviously way more tired than she was letting herself believe. "How about you go find _him_, and ask _him_."

"I can't," Butters muttered and leaned against the doorjamb into Bebe's guest room. "He's crossfaded off of his ass at Kyle's."

"Oh good, then he'll tell you anything you want," Bebe yawned again and went down the hall. Butters watched her disappear into Kenny's room, only to see her reemerge a few moments later, pushing Patrick's crib back into her room. "I'll keep an eye on him for you while you go. Vaya con dios."

Butters jumped as Bebe shut her door right in his face. He stood there for a moment, watching the door, debating whether or not to slam his fist against the wood and tell Bebe to tell him everything she knew right that second. But he didn't. Instead he just took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed.

"Guess I'm goin' on an adventure."


	12. Chapter 10

Hi guys! So, this story should be** coming to a close** soon...at least, it will be by my calculations. ** Two** or **three** more chapters? Anyway, the point is that** the end is drawing nigh** and I thought you all deserved fair warning.

You guys are pretty much the most **awesome** people in existence for keeping up with this ridiculousness for as long as you have. I hope you're **enjoying** this as much as I am, and your **feedback** is so much **adored**/**revered**/**appreciated**. My readers are awesome-every last one of you.

Also: I feel it's worth mentioning that** I don't have anything against** **Brazil**. I don't _think_ I have to worry about anyone thinking I do, but I figured I'd throw it out there. It's just kind of where the story went and ended up. D:

* * *

><p>There was a map of the world that had been hanging in Kenny's room since he'd turned eleven. It had been a birthday present from Kyle, who, upon hearing Kenny's secret desire to travel the world (and bang a chick from every country, naturally), had thought it would be useful. Kenny had spent hours staring at that thing, wondering about all the adventures that awaited him out there, outside of South Park.<p>

Then Kevin had somehow procured a set of darts, and soon Kenny's map had become resident dartboard (because it was something that Kenny loved and Kevin obviously had to be a dick and even take that away from him). Kenny had tried to help him learn the names of countries by assigning point values to the countries and oceans, but Kevin had immediately told him to stop being such a fucking queer and man up. Then he'd handed Kenny the darts and told him to hit the fuck out of anything he could, because that's what dudes did. Kenny had taken the darts in hand and hit nothing but large blue expanses of ocean which, according to Kenny's point systems, were worth nothing.

"Okay," he'd said. "The first country I hit, that's the first place I'm going."

"I don't give a flying fuck, faggot," Kevin had shot back, cleaning out the dirt underneath his fingernails with Kenny's cheap little penknife. Kenny had sighed and, in a ridiculous (and quite literally blind) leap of faith, closed his eyes and thrown his last dart. When he'd opened his eyes he'd seen it:

"I guess I'm going to Brazil," Kenny had smiled and looked over at Kevin. "They don't speak Spanish in Brazil, right? It's something… Portuguese? That sounds right. Is that right?"

"They speak Brazillian, fucktard," Kevin had said, shaking his head and tossing Kenny's knife back on his bed. "Do me a favor and fuck one of those girls at that carnival thing, the ones with the big ass titties that flash you for beads."

"That's Mardis Gras, and that's in New Orleans, Kevin," Kenny had rolled his eyes. If there was one thing Kenny had known, even then, it was what world festivals and fairs involved hot girls lifting their shirts and showing their boobage.

"Goddamn it, it sounds so fuckin' gay when you say it," Kevin had rolled his eyes, like this was the biggest inconvenience he would face all day. Kenny had figured by that point that his brother was a lost cause, but still. He had a goal.

He'd never had a goal before.

Kenny's eyes shot open, shutting almost immediately after when he was practically blinded by the brilliant white light pouring in through his window. He grabbed his pillow and pressed it over his face, trying in vain to ignore the fucking beast of a migraine pile-driving his skull, his sour stomach, and the dry scratchiness of his tongue that made him feel like he'd just gone down on Sasquatch's wife—God fucking _shit_, he hadn't been this hungover in forever. He never, _never_ got seriously hungover anymore.

Oh fuck. He'd—what the fuck had he done last night? And why was he in his bed?

He sat up way, _way_ too fast and gripped the side of his head. He had that stupid, lazy feeling in his limbs that made him feel like he was filled with sand instead of flesh and bone; his head felt not unlike it was filled with an ever-expanding ball of lead. All he could manage to think, pain aside, was that he was home. How the fuck was he home? He hadn't… he'd driven? No. No, he'd been at…

He'd been at Kyle's. That's right. Kyle and Stan had come and picked him up.

Fuck.

_Fuck_, they'd let him get fucking trashed last night. Or, rather, Kyle had—Stan had just been happy to have someone to get wasted with.

Kenny took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and good _Christ_, his breath was rancid. He shifted to turn, hoping that Patrick was awake and wanting to give his dear old dad a little comfort. He was pretty reliable when it came to that kind of thing… maybe because Kenny and Butters cuddled the ever-loving fuck out of him and he thought it was just what you were supposed to do? Whatever it was, Kenny could seriously go for some sweet baby hugs right about now. He looked over and felt his stomach bottom out.

The crib.

Where the fuck was the crib?

"Butters," he attempted to shout, but his body wasn't having it. He attempted to get up and out of bed, but all he'd succeeded in doing was falling all over himself and feeling like he was about to burst at the metaphorical seams.

"Butters," he whined this time, curling into himself and pulling his fleece throw over himself and wishing he could actually die from this just so he could get a new body and be done with it. Where the hell was Butters and why wasn't he coming to his aid? Not that Kenny was usually one to be petulant and whiny, but Butters was one of those constantly reliable types.

Except… Kenny was pretty sure he'd yelled at him last night. In fact, he was entirely certain he'd yelled at him, because that was one of the last sober memories he had of the night before. And that he'd actually wanted to hit him. They hadn't hit each other since they'd stopped playing superheroes when they were eleven, and in general Kenny tried to live by the credo that you should never hit anyone out of anger, and for the most part (with the exceptions of Eric Cartman and Craig Tucker) he'd been successful. He supposed last night was a success too, since he hadn't actually hit anyone, but there was still one of the most absolutely sickening feelings he'd ever felt churning deep in his gut. No wonder Buters wasn't answering—Kenny didn't think he'd have answered himself either.

Kenny was brought out of his thoughts by a light tap on the door, followed by the signature creak of squeaky hinges.

"Hey, darlin'," came Butters' soft voice. "Y'okay?"

"What the fuck did you do with my baby?" Kenny groaned into his mattress.

"Bebe's feedin' him downstairs," Butters said and pulled the blanket off his head. Kenny looked up at him and was just able to make it out that he was holding a water glass and a bottle of painkillers before he screwed his eyes shut again.

"Come on," Butters sighed. "Just take a few of these an' you'll feel a little better."

"Do. Not. Want," Kenny replied back, very simply and methodically. "Will. Vomit." If he spoke any faster he was liable to blow chunks all over the place, and washing his sheets was not exactly at the top of his list of desired activities.

"I promise you won't," Butters said and sat on the bed, rubbing soothing circles over Kenny's shoulder blades. Kenny poked his head out at this and accepted two pills, dry swallowing before he attempted to inundate his stomach with any liquid. Butters gave him a small, soft smile and ran his fingers through his hair, letting his fingernails drag along Kenny's scalp in the way he knew would make Kenny cuddle into his lap and hug him close.

"I'm sorry," Kenny mumbled.

"Hey," Butters patted him on the shoulder. "We'll talk about it when you're feelin' up to snuff, all right? Bebe said she'll bring Patrick up and say goodbye before she leaves for Loveland with her folks."

"Would you—" Kenny caught Butters wrist just as he was starting to stand. "Please just stay? I know I'm a piece of shit, but would you like… hold me or something? At least until I don't feel like someone's trying to pull my skull apart?"

He heard Butters laugh before the mattress dipped again, and Kenny made a few painful shifts around until he was laying, curled firmly into Butters' side. And Butters, to his ever-loving _fucking_ credit, held Kenny close and kissed him and told him everything was going to be all right, just like a…

Just like a boyfriend would.

"How bad was I?" he found himself asking.

"Oh, you were a fuckin' pill, mister," Butters answered almost fondly. "But I'm no saint, so I suppose we both kinda messed up. I apologized about a thousand times last night, but I'm sorry again, just for good measure."

Kenny was about to reply when he heard the door open again. He could only barely lift his head without feeling like he was going to puke (and as tolerant as Butters was, Kenny didn't think he'd appreciate getting thrown up on), but Bebe and Patrick were already at the bed so he didn't have to move much anyway.

"I didn't think you'd be up yet," Bebe said with a tentative smile. "We just wanted to say 'bye before we left for Loveland, didn't we sweetheart?"

Patrick gave a big smile and reached out for Butters and Kenny. _Just Butters, probably_, Kenny thought sardonically as Bebe set Patrick on the bed. He crawled over Butters' lap and attempted to squirm in between them, touching Kenny's hair and face and laying down on Butters, like he was trying to mirror the way Kenny was laying.

"Hi, honey," Kenny said and brought a heavy hand up to brush at his hair. God, Kenny loved looking at that pudgy little face, and honestly he couldn't fathom going a single fucking day without it. He thought he'd at least have a little more time before he had to deal with that. "Bebe, how long are you gonna be gone, do you think?"

Kenny looked up at her and saw her shift uncomfortably, like she was afraid that question was coming and that she was going to evade giving him a straight answer for as long as she possibly could. Kenny pulled Patrick into his arms and rolled onto his back, feeling ridiculous and happy under the perpetual hangover grog when Patrick giggled and nuzzled into his neck.

"How long, Bebe?" he asked again. Bebe sighed and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her sweater.

"I mean, funerals take a long time to arrange—"

"How long?" Kenny reiterated, more assertive this time.

"A week?" Bebe offered weakly. Kenny felt a rush of adrenaline jolt through his system as he bolted upright, Patrick in his arms, and stared open mouthed at Bebe.

"A _week_?" he asked, eyebrows high on his forehead. He could feel his body protesting, telling him to lie the fuck back down and sleep until the next turn of the century, but his body could fuck the fuck off right now.

"Kenny, don't, please," Bebe begged, exhaustion more than apparent as she clasped her hands together. "Please, my fucking grandma just _died_ for Chrissake, okay? I'm upset, my mom is really upset and I just… I don't want her bitching about you and how you never let Patrick do anything with me, so _please _just let me do this? She'll never bother you again, I promise."

Kenny looked at Butters, who was propped up on his elbows now, looking from Kenny to Bebe like he was unsure of whose side to take. When Kenny caught his eye, he gave him one of those imploring 'well, go on and tell her' gestures that made Butters look a little more nervous than Kenny had intended to make him.

"I-I don't know, Ken," Butters began. "It might be good for him. It'd sure break him of his separation anxiety."

"He does not have separation anxiety!" Kenny exclaimed, pulling Patrick even closer to him, ignoring the insistent throb of his brain against his skull.

"Kenny," Butters looked at him very frankly, gesturing to the whole of him. Kenny looked down at Patrick, who was hanging onto his neck and looking up at him with a toothy smile.

"What?" Kenny asked and kissed Patrick's cheek. Patrick giggled again and hid his face in the crook of Kenny's neck.

"Okay," Bebe sighed and braced her hands on her hips. "I'm going to go call my parents, tell them I'm ready… I'll come back up when they're here."

Kenny didn't say anything as Bebe left, even with Butters giving him that look that was obviously supposed to signify just how insane he was being. Normally, Kenny would've taken that look into account and (reluctantly) toned it down, but… Patrick was his kid. The longest they'd ever been apart since he'd been born was, at most, a day. A week? That was not going to fly.

"Kenny," Butter said softly, but Kenny extended a hand and pushed Butters' face away. They sat there in silence, save for Patrick's garbled baby talk as he fiddled with Kenny's lip piercing. Then he stopped babbling and started speaking, saying the word 'daddy' again. Only this time he was looking at Kenny, running his fingers over Kenny's earrings and beaming up at him with that bright little smile on his face.

"Fuck," Kenny found himself saying, feeling tears threaten to leak out of his eyes. "He's—I'm not crazy, right? He's talking to me."

"I think so, yeah," Butters nodded, scooting closer so he could kiss Kenny right below the ear. "Guess we're both dad. 'Butters' is probably just too hard for him to say right now."

Kenny looked over at Butters and shook his head, because Butters knew deep down at his very core that that was a big fat fucking lie. Patrick had called him 'dad', called them both 'dad', because this kid was smarter than anything and he just somehow knew that that was the closest thing to what Butters was.

"I want to be your boyfriend."

Kenny paused when he realized that those very sure-sounding, definitive words that sat hanging in the air had just come out of his mouth. They rang insistent in his ears, like he'd been thinking about this long and hard over the course of weeks instead of just the last day or so. Butters just blinked for a moment before he drew his knees to his chest and folded his arms.

"We-well, gee Kenny," he started softly. "How's a fella s'posed to know if you're bein' sincere?"

At which point Kenny rolled his eyes and, grabbing Butters by the back of the neck, pulled him into a firm, solid kiss. Butters kissed back, sure and sweet against his lips, and most definitely smiling by the end there. Kenny had to pull back then, feeling a little woozy and lightheaded, but… good. Better. Better than he had in a long time, even if he was convinced that one little word wasn't going to change jack shit about the relationship they already had.

"I guess that's awful convincing," Butters breathed warmly over Kenny's lips. Kenny grinned and kissed him again, and Butters held strong even though his breath tasted like toothpaste and Kenny's undoubtedly tasted like smoke, sour alcohol, and pepperoni pizza (the latter of which he was absolutely positive he'd eaten last night). Kenny, therefore, didn't take too much offense when Butters pulled back and told him that he needed to rinse his mouth out with mouthwash… or turpentine.

"I'm gonna go downstairs and make some lunch," Butters hummed and kissed him on the cheek. "You need anything?"

Kenny shook his head, because even if he took a whole bottle of painkillers he wouldn't want to eat, and settled back onto the bed. Patrick, to his credit, refrained from squirming and just let Kenny hold him for a little while. Maybe he knew that he'd be going with Bebe for a while, that this was the last time he'd see his dad and he wanted to make the most of it. A week was a long time, especially with a baby. Patrick had learned how to pull himself up and take a few tentative steps all on his own in the course of a week. What if he was speaking in full sentences by the time Bebe got back with him?

What if a week was too long, and Patrick forgot who he was entirely?

Or, worse, what if he remembered who he was and Bebe's parents filled his head with a bunch of flack about what a terrible life Kenny was giving him? What if that was his first memory, being told that his dad was nothing but a rundown piece of shit that'd never done anyone any good as long as he'd lived?

Bebe reentered the room a little while later, Patrick's diaper bag, full and threatening to burst, slung over her shoulder as she looked at Kenny with one of those sad, soft smiles you gave to people when you were about to do something to them that you didn't want to do.

"I won't let anything happen to him, Kenny," she said, the very epitome of reassurance as she walked over to the bed and sat beside him. "And don't worry about my parents—I'll personally kick their asses if they tell me you haven't been a good dad."

"Thanks, Bebe," Kenny smiled and gave Patrick a kiss on the cheek before Bebe took him. "And just… make your cousins wash their hands before they touch him? I don't want him getting any little kid germs and shit."

"Will-do, daddy-o," Bebe gave him a little salute and bounced Patrick on her hip. "Say 'bye-bye daddy'." Kenny smiled and rolled out of bed, insistent that he walk them to the door. He wrapped himself in his blanket and shuffled down the stairs only to discover that Bebe's parents were waiting in the living room, looking around at every surface and inspecting like crazy. He wasn't entirely sure of what they thought they'd find, though considering his reputation it was probably something like bodily fluids…

Or cocaine.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stevens," Kenny waved timidly. They both looked at him with just about as much good will as you'd expect from a couple of people who wanted nothing to do with you. Kenny also supposed he looked about as shitty as he felt, which probably meant he looked a little something like six-days-old road kill. Luckily, the presence of their daughter and their grandson seemed to keep a lot of the biting remarks at bay and in fact turned them into what would have appeared to be quite the loving, doting human beings. Mrs. Stevens used words like 'sweetheart' and 'pumpkin', while Mr. Stevens went on exhaustively about what a good looking boy his daughter had managed to make. Like Kenny hadn't had anything to do with it.

Like Kenny wasn't the only reason they even had a kid there to call 'grandson' at all. Even if Bebe had decided to keep Patrick without Kenny's full-blown parental gusto, she wouldn't have kept him. She would've given him to someone who'd wanted him… which was exactly what she'd done anyway.

Honestly, the whole thing made Kenny feel ill. And it would have even without the hangover.

"Well, it's very nice of you to let him come up with us," Mrs. Stevens conceded after Bebe gave her a very imploring look.

"Hey, you're his family too," Kenny replied. He was very obviously on some polite strain of auto-pilot Butters had managed to knock into him, otherwise he would've said something more along the lines of 'go fuck yourselves'. Because he was angry enough, but wasn't feeling very clever and all he wanted to do was sleep until God saw fit to take him off the planet for good.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Stevens took the bag from Bebe and gave Kenny a curt nod. "We'll make sure Bebe keeps in touch."

Kenny nodded, about to question this random act of civility, but decided to take Butters' word for it: sometimes, people were just kind without reason. He followed them to the door, since the actual sunlight would have made him collapse into a writhing heap on the floor, and gave Patrick a final kiss before he and Bebe got into the car and drove off.

"Jesus, are they finally gone?" Kenny heard Butters ask from the door to the basement. He turned around and walked to the couch, still wrapped in his blanket, and flopped down just a little too hard on one of the cushions.

"Yeah," he muttered and rubbed at his eyes. "Why're you hiding? I'm the one they hate."

"I-I can't see her parents again," Butters stammered and came to sit beside Kenny on the couch. "I told her mom she needs her pussy eaten more, are you kiddin'? I can never look her in the eye again."

Kenny looked at Butters for a second. Then he realized what he must have been talking about and started laughing. He didn't care if Butters was going to yell at him to brush his teeth again; he had to kiss him because that was legitimately the greatest thing Kenny had ever heard.

Butters rolled his eyes, a little pink in the face, but he seemed to understand that Kenny felt whatever lashing out Butters had done had been completely justified. He did push Kenny off of him at one point, still not having eaten, and walked back into the kitchen. Kenny was left sprawled out on the couch, draped in his blanket and within an arm's reach of the remote control. He managed to get it in his hands and turn on the TV, wondering if there was anything good on.

Only this was the kind of TV that you could hear before see its picture, and those were not the sounds of any broadcasted programming that Kenny knew of… in fact, they weren't even the sounds of anything Kenny _owned_. The picture was still coming in, the very vague shadow of a reedy blonde boy getting fucked to the hell and back, when the very distinct sounds of Portuguese hit his ears and drove him to click the TV off without another thought.

_Fuck_.

He felt his stomach give another unpleasant, nauseating twist. He could hear himself ringing in his ears, all strained and fucked out and so desperate for cash he'd do anything. He didn't like thinking about what he'd done, how he'd handed the director the fake ID and passport Kyle had doctored for him, the ones that said he was nineteen instead of seventeen. He didn't like remembering the sleazy look on everyone's faces as he'd stripped, or the way they'd all grabbed themselves as he'd put on a show and jerked off for them, and he especially didn't like remembering the fact that, amidst all the fucking and fingering and sucking, he knew that he'd left someone he truly cared about, and who truly cared about him.

Fuck, he was gonna be sick. He scrambled off the couch and, too far gone to run upstairs to the bathroom, scurried into the kitchen and threw up a whole lot of nothing-but-stomach-fluids right into the sink, about six inches away from where Butters had just plated a turkey sandwich.

"Sweet baby Jesus!" Butters yelped and pushed his sandwich further down the counter.

Kenny whined as the hard realization hit him: Butters must have found the DVDs. God, that meant he knew about all the nasty shit Kenny had done, about how cheap and fucked up he actually was. Goddamn, if he'd found out all that then why in God's holy name was he rubbing Kenny's back and smoothing his hair off of his forehead? Why did he kiss him on the ear and tell him it was going to be okay when his body decided to go for _Ultimate Purge 2011: Take Two_?

If he'd found them he must've seen them last night, before he'd come and dragged Kenny's sorry ass back home.

If he'd seen them last night and still wanted to be Kenny's boyfriend the next day, he must've been even more decent than Kenny had thought before (and he'd already been under the impression for the last two decades that Butters was the most decent person in South Park, and quite possibly on the planet).

Kenny ran the tap for a few moments, still spitting up the bitter taste at the back of his mouth as he removed his tongue and lip rings, and coughed a few more times. He almost whined when he felt Butters disappear from his side, only to have him reappear a few seconds later to fill a glass with warm water and salt.

"Here, rinse your mouth out," Butters said, holding the glass in front of Kenny's face. Kenny just turned his head and gave him a look, one of those looks that clearly said 'I will literally die if you make me do this' before Butters rolled his eyes and insistently swirled the glass in front of his face. "Come on, I don't want your piercings to get infected."

So Kenny took the glass and rinsed his mouth, trying very hard not to heave again when the warm, salty liquid hit the back of his throat. He figured that if it meant Butters would stop looking at him like he was a fucking invalid, it was well worth the watery eyes and the intense nausea.

"Where the fuck did you get those movies?" Kenny asked when he finally righted himself. Butters was leaning with his hip against the counter, arms folded and eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He looked like he wanted to talk about it just as much as Kenny did, but it couldn't have been for the same reason.

"You don't—" Butters took a shaky breath. "You don't remember talkin' to me last night, do you?"

"No," Kenny shook his head carefully. Fuck, he was going to have to talk to Kyle, because someone had obviously forgotten their pact about taking their phones away from each other if it appeared they were too drunk to dial responsibly.

"Kyle called me to come get you," Butters said, and Kenny felt a little relieved at the fact that he could cross something off of his incredibly short to-do list. "You grabbed the phone a-an' told me to go grab those DVDs under the loose floorboard in your closet and watch 'em… so I did. A little bit. Of just one."

Kenny felt his stomach drop at having his suspicions confirmed.

"Fuck, Butters," he felt his anger flare up, taking the place of any shame his brain dared tell him to feel. "Don't you know not to fucking listen to drunk people? I didn't know what the fuck I was saying."

"Kenny, please," Butters sighed tiredly. "I don't wanna fight with you, so don't take your crap out on me."

"Fuck you," Kenny spat back. "Did I just infiltrate your secret stash of… well—"

"Porn?" Butters offered. "Darlin', if I had a stash of videos of me jerkin' off you'd be the first to know." He finished with a good-natured laugh that Kenny didn't bother returning.

"Dude, no you wouldn't," he said instead, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth where he still felt a little phantom spit cooling his lips. "What, you'd willingly show me a gang of strangers taking turns using your ass as a jizz jar?"

"Kenny—"

"And even if you would, I wouldn't want to watch it," Kenny continued, completely ignoring Butters' protests. "I wouldn't want to know that you were ever that desperate. I mean, I'm one thing, you know? Everyone in this fucking town knows I'll do anything for money, right? But you've got fucking dignity, man, and that makes me happy because I know I'll never have to see you like that. Just… all strung out on crystal or E or whatever the fuck it was just so you could get through shooting one fucking scene."

"_That's_ what you were on?" Butters asked, eyes bugged out and brows up in his hairline. "Kenny, that shit _kills_ people all. the time."

"I know that, dude," Kenny rolled his eyes and, tired of standing, slid down the side of the counter and to the floor.

"Seriously," Butters continued, sitting down in front of Kenny, cross-legged like a kindergartener at circle time and about twice as eager. "I-I had a… well, one of my e-ex-boyfriends—"

"Oh please," Kenny deadpanned and thunked his head back against the cabinets. "Let's add a cherry on top of this already _perfect _conversation."

"Oh, just hush up and listen," Butters rolled his eyes. "One of my exes was real into clubbing an' stuff, an' I found out a couple months after we broke up that he overdosed. They found him in the back room of a club passed out in his own puke."

"I know it's dangerous, Butters, that's why I don't fucking do it anymore," Kenny said, maybe a _little_ too loudly, but he didn't give a fuck. He hated talking about this shit, and more than anything just wanted to erase it, to make it go the fuck away because he never wanted Butters to know this. Kyle knew, and Bebe half-knew, and that was it. Case closed.

"Kenny," Butters said, moving forward to cup his face in his hands. "I-I want you to know that… w-well, that you can tell me anything, a-an' I won't judge you."

"Thanks," Kenny said, but made no move to elaborate further. Fuck, he forgot how smart Butters was about this shit—Kenny was used to being the one who knew when people were lying or keeping secrets. He forgot that Butters was just as adept, which seemed to catch Butters off-guard; this only made him cock his head and begin again.

"Let me rephrase," Butters said. "I want to know what happened. I want you to tell me what happened, and when you do, I'm not gonna judge you for anything you did or why you did it, all right? It's safe to talk to me, remember?"

Kenny bit his lip and immediately hung his head, feeling that depressingly familiar feeling of tears pricking behind his eyes. It was scary, though, sharing something so intimate with someone. Fuck each other silly, sure, but when it came down to the nitty-gritty real stuff, Kenny tended to hold back. As he'd said before, he had a lot of baggage to handle. Sure, it was a lot trickier handling it on your own, but what if you shared the burden with someone who wasn't careful, who didn't know the meaning of the words 'fragile' or 'this side up'? What if they broke you even more than you were before, instead of fixing you?

"Aw… aw, Kenny," Butters cooed softly, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck. "Do-Don't cry, baby. It's okay. I'm here."

"Fuck, Butters," Kenny said, voice all thick and nasally, as he mopped up his tears with the sleeve of his sweater. "Just… fuck."

"I know," Butters nodded and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. Kenny gave a half-hearted water-logged laugh at that and ran his hands through his hair.

"I don't know what you want me to say," he said, looking Butters in the eye. Butters just bit his lip and sat back, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward almost thoughtfully. He then cocked his head again and took a deep breath.

"Why'd you leave me?" he asked, immediately loosening up, like he'd been holding the question in since forever. And Kenny answered, "Because it was easier", like he'd had the answer cooking in his brain for just as long.

"Easier than what?" Butters posed, nothing if not objective, and Kenny was grateful as all hell for that. Kenny felt his shoulders drop a little, tension draining from his body as he realize that it was okay—he was with Butters now. Butters wouldn't let anything hurt him.

"Easier than… I don't know," Kenny sighed. "Easier than saying goodbye? Easier than falling even more in love with you than I already was and having to watch you leave me? Not that you weren't already gone by the time I left."

"Oh…" Butters' gaze softened at this. "Oh, darlin', I must've been right awful, talkin' about leavin' all the time. Shit. I didn't even think—"

"I know," Kenny sniffled and shook his head. Fuck, the last thing he wanted to do was make Butters feel bad. "And I know I should've fucking said something, but… I don't know, you were so happy that you got to leave. I—fuck, I should've just gone with you, but I… I'd always wanted to see Brazil, so—"

"You decided to get as far away from me as possible?" Butters gave a small laugh.

"I guess, yeah," Kenny nodded and scratched his chin on his shoulder. He was feeling remarkably twitchy now. "Fuck, that sounds so terrible when you say it. But I'd wanted to go to Brazil since I was a kid, though, you know? I mean, they have Rio and _Carnaval_ and, come on, there's an entire style of genital waxing named after them. How could I not want to go?"

"Naturally," Butters smiled wryly and nodded, before adding a confused, "I didn't know you knew Portuguese, though."

"I figured I'd better learn it if I was gonna go," Kenny shrugged, and looking back it did seem a little strange. "The library has those stupid Rosetta Stone things in every language. I mean, the only reason I'm even fluent is because I actually _went_ there for, like, five months, but… yeah. The guys always thought I listened to music when we worked in the library, but it was usually language tapes"

"You should talk dirty to me in Portuguese sometime," Butters smirked. "Might be hot."

Kenny just shook his head and took a deep breath. All the dirty talk he knew was from working so much in those five months, and quite frankly he wasn't about to go around repeating all the gruff commands he'd had barked at him, nor was he about to fire off any of the whiny pleas he'd used to respond. Butters wasn't a part of that world, and he never would be if Kenny had anything to say about it.

"How'd you get into, uh… porn?"

"Well, the plane ticket broke my bank," Kenny sighed. "Wound up down there with about a hundred bucks to my name, and, you know me, I blew it all on dinner my first night there and the most run-down disgusting hotel I could find. So, I needed money. And the guys in the room next to me were filming their movie. One of them saw me getting ice that night and told me he'd give me, like, a hundred bucks if I jerked off for him."

"And you just said yes?" Butters asked, fascinated, like he knew he'd never be able to make the same decision so casually.

"Fuck your 'yes'," Kenny snorted. "I asked him how much he'd give me if I let someone fuck me. That was pretty much it from there."

"So you worked in porn," Butters tried to puzzle out, like he somehow still wasn't getting it. "For five months."

"Yeah," Kenny nodded, looking at Butters' knees instead of the floor. "I thought it'd be fun, you know? Getting paid to have sex… My fucking dream, right? Like, if I could get paid to do one thing..."

"You are pretty fuckin' good at it," Butters agreed and propped his chin up on the heel of his hand. Kenny smiled in spite of himself and sighed.

"It didn't feel… right," he heard himself say, a notion he'd never bothered to voice or signify entirely when he'd thought about it in the past. "Like, I love sex. You know I do. But something about getting paid to do it, to let someone do that kind of thing to you without the passion behind it that makes it so fucking great to begin with? It kind of just fucks everything over and makes it feel… like a job, I guess."

Kenny took a shaky breath and finally chanced a look up at Butters, who was watching him intently, looking nothing short of the part of supportive boyfriend. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"Fuck, I hate this," Kenny gave a nervous laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. He heard Butters give a little tut and move to sit beside him against the cabinets. He was proud of the way he didn't shrug Butters away, or tell him to fuck off, but still the unease in his stomach persisted.

"I know," Butters said, bringing his fingers up to play with the fine hairs at the base of Kenny's skull. "But this is good. The second you start talkin' about it is when you know you're ready to get better and move on. N-not that there's anythin' wrong with you."

Kenny put his head between his knees and took a few deep breaths. Why—why was there this sudden feeling of abject terror roiling inside of him? He was fine, Butters was safe—goddamn, what about him wasn't getting that? There was something way down in there that wasn't registering the warm, gentle hand on the back of his neck and on his shoulders, or that thick, syrupy voice whispering reassurances right in his ear. Butters was just so goddamn _good_, always ready to help people and listen even if he didn't care.

Except Butters genuinely cared about _so much_.

"Fuck," Kenny's stupid, too-high nervous laugh surfaced again. "I'm such a fucking idiot."

"You're not, though," Butters rolled his eyes and pulled himself in close so he and Kenny were pressed flush together, side-to-side… so he could kiss Kenny's ear and nuzzle his neck like you did when you wanted nothing other than this human being next to you to feel better. "People do stupid stuff, Ken. For the most part, people'll forgive you an' move on. Or they won't. Just… who cares about what anyone thinks?"

"Oh, fucking really?" Kenny laughed, eyebrows high on his forehead as he moved to give Butters a good look up and down. "Baby, I've never met anyone who gives more of a shit about what people think than you." Butters pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in a little scowl that legitimately made Kenny's heart skip a beat.

"Fine," Butters conceded. "I'm one to talk, but… y'know, when I went to school—"

"God, I don't wanna talk about this anymore," Kenny muttered and buried his face in his hands. "I don't wanna hear about how fucking great your life was in L.A, okay? I know you're back here in this fucking podunk town with its dumbfuck hick people who don't know the first thing about art or wine or music—"

"Kenny, shut the fuck up an' listen for a second!" Butters interjected, eyebrows high on his forehead, like he was surprised Kenny wasn't letting him get a word in edgewise. He looked up at the ceiling then, and started laughing.

At what Kenny wasn't entirely sure, but if he had to venture a guess, he was probably laughing at him.

"Jesus, Kenny," Butters began, "you know… I always used to think you never gave a shit about what anyone thought of you. H-heck, you're the only real reason I stopped carin' about what people thought of me."

"Well, that was pretty fucking stupid," Kenny scoffed. "Not giving a shit just because I didn't?"

"No," Butters shook his head. "Not caring because, in spite of whatever happened, I knew you liked me enough for it not to matter. Whatever they—everyone—thought didn't matter because you thought I was all right enough to be around. You… Jeez, Kenny, you made me feel like I was worth somethin' for once in my life. I-I really hate it when you beat yourself up, 'cause you're not all those things you say you are. You're not stupid, you're not cheap, you're not worthless… I always thought you were pretty fuckin' smart."

Kenny sat there for a few seconds, watching as Butters scrambled to his feet and began pacing. His socks slipped a few time on the cheap linoleum, but he kept upright, and, as was in his nature, kept up his harangue of kind and caring sentiments.

"Y'know," Butters said, "you may not have gone to school, you may've gotten involved in makin'—oh God," he wrinkled his nose when the realization hit him, "you were underage. Fuck, you weren't even—you were still underage when you got _back_. Ain't that illegal there?"

"Yeah," Kenny gave a half-hearted shrug. "But Kyle makes fake IDs and documents and shit. How the fuck do you think I got out of the country on my own?"

Kenny didn't bother telling Butters that that was why he'd even found himself back in South Park—that the head guy had eventually found out he'd only been seventeen and taken him out the next day. Apparently he'd already been in trouble several times for letting guys go bareback in his films, and Kenny had guessed letting a big burly guy on the wrong side of fifty fuck a 'tweaked out seventeen-year-old twink' (despite the fact that he _wasn't _a twink, thank you very much) probably would've landed the fucks in jail. It hadn't even been his most grisly death, just a quick shot to the back of his head in an abandoned back alley.

The worst part about it had been the fact that the fuckers hadn't even let him make the last phone call he'd requested, the one he'd been on his way to make anyway.

The call to wish Butters a happy birthday, to apologize, to tell him he'd be home soon.

No, Kenny didn't bother telling Butters any of this, because even if he thought it was worth sharing, Butters wouldn't believe he'd been killed anyway, so.

"Kenny, are you even listenin'?" he heard Butters chastise. Kenny sighed and shook his head, figuring he may as well admit it instead of pretend. Butters would know anyway. Butters always did.

"Like I was sayin' before," he said and crouched back down in front of Kenny. "Yeah, the guys I met at school were witty, an' they were cultured, a-an' they liked to party an' go clubbing, an' get totally fucked up, but… shit, they weren't you, Ken."

"Isn't that the point?" Kenny shot back. God, what was with him today?

"No, Ken," Butters laughed and grabbed at the back of his neck with both his hands. Kenny didn't bother telling him that he looked like some deformed man-toad, back on his haunches like that. Some word pictures just weren't worth repeating.

"Ken, most of the guys I met were nothin' but vain, superficial dickheads. Yeah, they talked fast, and they knew things and were political a-an' charming, but I-I never felt like I belonged with 'em. I mean, I started dressin' like 'em and talkin' like 'em a-an' actin' like 'em, but the only person I ever really felt like myself around is you. An' you're still the only person who makes me feel like I'm worth a damn." He cupped Kenny's face in his hands and made him look him in the eye. "I was a fuckin' fool for not tellin' you that the second I realized it, 'cause it's somethin' you should hear every day. I love you, Kenny McCormick, an' I—I fuckin' hate that I ever made you think otherwise."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Butters still holding Kenny's face as Kenny looked up at him, searching for the sincerity behind his eyes. God, Butters was always so sincere about everything. That had to have been exhausting.

But Butters did all of that for him too. He didn't look at Kenny like anyone else did—he didn't see the perverted piece of white trash or the brooding hero, he didn't see the beat up little shit or the kid who worked himself to the bone just to help his parents pick up the slack on the bills. Butters looked at him, and Kenny knew he saw right past everything he was to everyone else and just saw him, just saw Kenny for who he was. No judgments, no ill-spoken words, nothing—just a smile, the kind that brightened up a room and made you feel like there was nothing in the world that could ever hurt you again.

"I love you, too," Kenny said, lips brushing over Butters' softly, barely-there, before Butters let out a needy little moan and mashed faces together. Kenny grinned, laughing a bit when Butters climbed on top of his legs and pulled his head back by his hair to deepen their kiss. If there was one thing he loved, it was Butters grinding down on him like a horny school boy. They made out there against the cabinets for a while, Butters licking into Kenny's mouth in soft, tender strokes while Kenny held his hips firmly in place on his lap.

Expectedly, they didn't last very long there against the cabinets. No sooner had Butters started sucking on that little spot just below Kenny's ear had Kenny given him a firm smack on the ass and told him to get up.

"What?" Butters breathed, eyebrows knit upward in confusion.

"Bed," Kenny just said before he pecked Butters on the lips again. "Floor's too hard."

Butters rolled his eyes and stood at that, offering Kenny a hand upward and a rather smarmy, "You're such a baby when you're hungover."

"Fuck yourself," Kenny muttered, and then went to grab his abandoned tongue ring off of the counter.

Butters grabbed his wrist just as he was about to put the ring back in place, and kissed him again, long and hard, tongue sliding around and gliding against Kenny's.

"'s not the only reason your tongue gives me a hard-on," Butters said through a grin, nipping at Kenny's bottom lip as he pulled back. Kenny immediately dropped the ring back on the counter and plunged his tongue into Butters' warm, soft mouth, holding him by the jaw in an effort to just keep him there, to make sure that this was happening, that Butters was there and real and loved him and—_fuck_, this was bordering on becoming very lesbian very quickly.

"Downstairs," Kenny said as he tore away from Butters' lips. "I'm gonna puke if I walk up the stairs."

"Charming," Butters laughed and brought him back into a kiss. Then he laced his fingers between Kenny's and pulled him down into the basement. He'd never admit it—or maybe he would now, who knew—but Kenny loved when he got to hold hands with Butters. They hadn't when they were kids, not in public anyway… mostly because holding hands was somehow more intimate than sucking face or even sticking your dicks in each other.

They crawled onto Butters' bed, Butters flat on his back and Kenny hovering over him, framing his head with his forearms as he ducked down to kiss him. He was starting to feel a little dizzy again, though he wasn't sure whether that was from the lack of fluids in his system or from this overabundance of feelings in his chest.

Happy.

For the first time in a long time, quite possibly since the first time he'd held his son, Kenny McCormick was happy.

However, for about the millionth time today, he was also overcome by nausea and had to stop whatever he was doing in order to curl into a ball and curse the wretched gods of stomach pain.

"Aw, darlin'," Butters gave a little laugh and rubbed a hand over his back. "You want some water?"

Despite the fact that the thought of ingesting anything made him want to gag, Kenny nodded his head and pulled Butters' blankets over himself. He distinctly heard Butters call him a baby again before he ran up the stairs, but managed to convince himself that it didn't much matter. In spite of this overwhelming sense of happiness, Kenny's brain was still slamming against his skull and his stomach was still twisting in horribly unpleasant knots.

So much for painkillers, he thought grimly, and waited for Butters to come back with his water.

He may've been a sarcastic little twat, but Butters was at least a sarcastic little twat that would take care of him. Normally Kenny was averse to having people coddle him, mostly because it was something that no one in Kenny's life ever really bothered to do, but with Butters he'd make an exception.

Not that the guy ever really gave him a choice when it came to this kind of thing anyway.

Kenny was pulled out of his thoughts by the abrasive blare of Butters' generic ringtone sounding from his phone. Of course, the phone happened to be right next to Kenny's ear, serving only to exacerbate the pounding of his head.

"Your phone!" Kenny called. "I'm answering it."  
>"It's my secret Guatemalan lover, don't," Butters shouted back. Kenny snorted, the word 'smartass' tumbling out of his lips almost automatically, as he grabbed the phone and answered.<p>

"Butters' phone," he answered automatically.

"Oh, I must have the wrong number," came the sugary tones of a woman, sounding to be on official business. "I'm looking for Leopold Stotch."

"Oh, yeah," Kenny shook his head and rubbed at his temples. "Yeah, that's him, sorry. He's unavailable at the moment. Uh, who's calling?"

"Well," the woman said, clearly unsure of how she should react to Kenny's presence on the other end of the phone. "This is Annie McPhearson with Helping Hands up in Denver. If you could have him give me a call back… I suppose just tell him that we have an opening here and that he should give me a call. I need to know by the end of the week if he wants to take it. Thank you, um… I'm sorry, who am I speaking with?"

"Uh, his boyfriend?" Kenny replied, already feeling his blood going hot. He didn't much care if he'd just fucked over Butters' chances at getting a job, because Denver? Fucking Denver?

"Oh, well hi there!" Annie replied brightly. "You know, I'm sure glad you answered. You know, for a while I thought that poor boy was raising that baby on his own? Gosh, this is so brave, what you two are doing, really. How's the little fella doing, anyway?"

"Thanks, miss," Kenny clipped out, ignoring her question entirely. It was probably a little too harsh for a stranger, but he actually _could not_ take this now. "I'll be sure to tell Bu—Leopold. I'll be sure to tell him you called."

He didn't wait for her response before he shut the phone, and seeing that Butters had just decided to come back downstairs anyway, he didn't have to bother pulling himself out of Butters' warm burrow of quilts and comforters to ask the all important question:

"What the hell?"

Butters stopped, glass of water in one hand and turkey sandwich (long since abandoned on the kitchen counter) in the other, and raised his eyebrows.

"I thought you said you wanted water," he said very carefully. "Who called?"

"A woman named Annie McPhearson?" Kenny offered and sat up, just so he could see that look of utter mortification spreading across Butters' face. Sure enough, there it was—light eyebrows sweeping together, blue eyes going big and glassy as he set the sandwich and water down on the makeshift upside-down-crate side table and sat on the bed beside Kenny.

"Okay," he began, "I know what you're thinkin', but it's not that bad."

"Denver?" Kenny snapped and drew his knees up to his chest.

"Hold up," Butters brought up both hands in that universally placating gesture that, right now, was only more likely to stoke Kenny's fire than snuff it. But, being that Kenny was feeling like absolute and utter shit, he let Butters continue. "I-I interviewed for that thing a long time ago, mister—back when I just barely started lookin' after your kid. You didn't think I was gonna sit around a-an' wait 'til you offered to make me a kept woman, did you?"

"No," Kenny said, very levelly, the absolute picture of calm.

A lie.

Butters had fucking lied to him.

"Then what?" Butters shrugged, objective. Actually calm.

"I expected you to fucking tell me that you were interviewing for a job," Kenny replied heatedly, adrenaline coursing through him again, crawling under his skin and slithering up his spine. "Especially if you were interviewing for other jobs when you specifically told me you'd be able to look after my kid, shithead."

"Don't call me names just 'cause you're upset at me," Butters frowned, face all pinched up in that little pout again. Normally that would have made Kenny apologize right then and there…. Normally.

If he hadn't been feeling like absolute hell.

Instead, in the long tradition of the good ol' Irish fighting spirit that had been bred into him since birth, he kept arguing.

"You're keeping secrets from me, and I'm not allowed to be mad?" he asked. "After I fucking told you _all_ of my shit just now?"

"You really think that I sat there that entire time," Butters began, face void of all emotion now, "actively not telling you about a job interview I had _months_ ago."

In retrospect, it did sound a little ridiculous, but they were too far into this for Kenny to deflate and apologize. He didn't need his pride to take any more beatings today.

"Whatever, dude," he wrapped himself in the blankets again and curled up on the bed. "Get the fuck away from me."

"Aw, come on," Butters said, undoubtedly on the tail end of an eye roll, "Ken, I'm sorry, all right? Full disclosure from now on, honest."

"Fuck your full disclosure," Kenny moaned, nausea sweeping over him again, "go away."

"Uh-huh," Butters nodded in a tone of voice that conveyed that he knew full-well how big of an idiot Kenny was being. "And where do you want me to go?"

"I don't know," Kenny groaned, "just get the fuck out of my house."

"Fine," Butters said, very agreeably, like they were negotiating which one of them would serve in a round of tetherball or something. "But I'm takin' the car."

"Fine," Kenny uncovered his face just as he felt the dip in the bed spring up with Butters' absence. "Then I'm taking your sandwich."

"Good," Butters agreed and stomped about halfway up the stairs before ducking his head back down. "Y'know, just 'cause your son is gone doesn't mean you don't have to be a fuckin' adult anymore. Call me when you're ready to stop actin' like a fuckin' lunatic."

Kenny wanted to retort, but finding himself rather inundated by a crescendo of pounding in his head, he couldn't be witty so he just moaned and tried not to feel like such an asshole when he heard the door shut upstairs.

Then it was silent.

Then it came to Kenny's attention that, for the first time in almost a year, he was entirely alone. Entirely alone in a house usually filled with his son's happy laughter, entirely alone in his boyfriend's bed that still smelled vaguely of sex from the day before, entirely lost in his own head.

It didn't take very long for Kenny to pull Butters' laptop up off of the floor next to him and start a movie, nor did it take very long for him to come to one very compelling conclusion:

For someone who could never die, who would probably live long past the deaths of most of his closest friends and, God forbid, Butters and Patrick, he hated being alone.

In fact, being alone completely and unequivocally sucked ass.


	13. Chapter 11

Wow, so when I said school was going to be occupying a lot of my time, I kind of hadn't expected it to be this much. Sorry this took so long, but it has quite literally been the week from hell, and it it was just... really shitty. I know you don't care, so I'll stop bitching.

**Thanks for reading**, seriously-lurkers, reviewers, and all who fall in between, I love you guys and thank you for putting up with my ridiculousness.

* * *

><p>Butters didn't have a lot of places that he could go to occupy his time. Karen's staunch refusal to answer her cell phone ended in Butters inquiring as to her whereabouts at the diner, where he'd found out that she'd requested the day off for a doctor's appointment. Had this happened in a larger town, Butters would have been screwed into finding someone else to hang out with for the rest of the day (and being that Dougie was still off at school, that would prove difficult). But this was South Park, and there was only one place anyone ever went for all of their medical needs.<p>

Butters managed to locate, through the use of well-mannered questions and charming smiles, the Hell's Pass obstetrics ward. He skidded to a halt outside the glass door and, sure enough, there were Karen and Ike, waiting patiently in the waiting room and looking much more like children than the adults they were trying to be. Butters debated going in at all—he'd intended fully on having what he'd come to call 'a session' with Karen, where he'd buy her whatever ridiculous pregnancy foods she wanted and watch horrible romcoms with her and turn the sass up to eleven because it made her laugh and… god, all he'd done over the last few days was make people feel like shit.

He just wanted to make someone happy again, and Karen? Karen could always use a happiness booster, especially nowadays. She hadn't succumb entirely to a cynical perception of the world, but her brightness and optimism had dimmed considerably. Even Ruby, who was a cynical bitch on her _best _days, had remarked that she was a total downer lately. She still went baby shopping with her and told judgmental assholes to fuck off (followed by a flourish of one or both of her middle fingers), but Karen had told Butters she felt like she was just bumming everyone out lately.

Butters certainly knew the feeling.

Without another thought, he pushed open the door to the waiting room and gave both Karen and Ike the brightest smile he could muster when he entered. Karen pushed herself up off of her seat, much to Ike's dismay (apparent when he grabbed her wrist and told her to calm down), and brought Butters into a hug… like she'd been waiting forever for him to walk in through that door.

"Hey, sweetheart," he stroked a hand over her hair. "How're you doin'?"

"Fine," Karen sniffed and pulled back. "Jesus, what are you doing here?"

"Just out for my daily walk by the obstetrics ward," Butters shrugged. "Thought I'd pop in and say hi." Then he folded his arms and gave her a look, complete with a "why didn't you tell us you were seein' the doctor today?"

Karen raised an eyebrow at this and folded her arms over her belly, the simple word "Us?" coming out on the end of a wry smile. Butters pursed his lips and made to grab his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent threat to call Kenny and tell him exactly where he was and with whom that Karen seemed to believe was an actual… well, threat. It wasn't very likely that Kenny was doing anything other than being a stubborn jackass, which meant he wouldn't be answering any phone calls from Butters any time soon.

"It's just a check-up," Ike supplied from where he sat, nose buried in a copy of some trashy waiting room magazine. "I actually have no clue why she's so nervous, but it's actually starting to make _me_ nervous."

"Shush," Karen turned her head briefly before looking back at Butters and knocking her heels together in a little excited purge of energy. "The doctor said she'd tell us the sex of the baby today."

Butters felt his eyebrows shoot up and his face break out into a smile before he could even fully register the meaning of the words.

"Aw, Karen, that's great!" he beamed. "W-why wouldn't you tell Kenny that?"

"Are you serious?" Karen cocked a weary brow. "We don't want to know the gender of the baby. I don't want to know, Ike doesn't want to know—"

"It works out for me," Ike interjected, "since all I really want is to dress my baby like David Bowie anyway."

Karen rolled her eyes and braced her hands on her hips.

"We didn't tell anyone because they would've all tried to come and get it out of the doctor today," she said. "Especially a certain grandparent who shall remain nameless."

"My mom is insane," Ike said and gave Butters a look. "Are we surprised."

Butters snorted. Sheila, for as much of a domineering control-freak as she was, had taken Karen's pregnancy and the nature of Ike's involvement considerably well from what Butters had heard. Granted, he'd only heard tell of this from Karen, and they'd been in the presence of Kenny when she'd told him so it was likely she'd glossed over any and all of the more sordid details, but he'd expected a massive blow up from Sheila and… well, Butters took it as a good sign that there hadn't been one.

"And my brother," Karen said, like she was already exhausting her point. "Kenny would force it out of the doctor and then tell everyone and their mother. Not that I don't love him, but come on. You know what he's like."

Butters nodded. He could definitely see Kenny sitting there, waxing philosophical about what his future niece or nephew would one day be if he knew such valuable information. Boy or girl… knowing what exactly the little fella in Karen's stomach was packing somehow gave validity to his or her existence. It was kind of exciting, but only because Butters had never really been this close to anyone who'd been pregnant before, so he'd never had the chance to be excited about it.

"I-I promise I'll keep my mouth shut," he held his hand up in the boy scouts salute. Karen snorted and resumed her seat beside Ike, crossing her legs at the ankle and picking up a magazine that looked something like Housewifery 101.

"Please," she smirked. "I don't care if you know. Christ, you kept it quiet that I was pregnant_; _I think you can handle keeping the gender of a baby under wraps."

What Butters failed to tell her was that this had happened before he and Kenny had started fucking, and long before they'd actually started in on this little "Stepford fag" charade (God, he _had_ to stop watching Queer as Folk), but he decided trust was better than none so he beamed and sat down across from them.

He'd only just pulled out his phone to send Kenny a text, to ask if he was going to be okay and let him know there was leftover lasagna in the freezer if he ended up being hungry, when he caught Ike staring at him in one of the most accusing manners he'd ever seen, one that befitted his brother much more than him.

"What happened?" he asked. Butters' eyebrows flew up of their own accord as he felt his cheeks tinge pink when he realized Karen was looking at him too.

"I-I don't know what—"

"Cut the shit," Ike rolled his eyes. "Your fucking twat waffle of a husband smoked the rest of my fucking weed last night. I helped you carry him out to his car after I had to listen to his _adamant_ declarations of love for you. Now you're here. What happened?"

"What's going on?" Karen asked, perking up more than Butters felt she had any right to. "Have you two renewed your vows as lovers? Can my child refer to you as Uncle Butters without throwing my brother into anaphylactic shock?"

"Probably not," Butters grimaced at the mention of his name attached to such a title, which he was now incapable of regarding without automatically feeling gross.

"Not that you're not an uncle anyway," Karen considered, like she hadn't even heard Butters' reply, and then paused when she saw the way Ike and Butters were looking at each other. Then she caught on and, in the grand tradition of McCormicks overreacting, slumped and let out an all-too-loud "Oh, for fuck's sake, what did you do now?"

"I didn't do a goddamn thing!" Butters stage whispered, terrified that the woman behind the desk would look up from cleaning under her fingernails and interject an unwelcome opinion.

"No," Karen insisted. "You tell me what you did to him before I open a can of pregnant lady whoop-ass."

"She'll do it too," Ike nodded vaguely. Butters rolled his eyes and tried to discern what, over the last twenty-four hours what was and wasn't privileged information.

"There were some discrepancies, harsh words were exchanged, some emotional purging, a minor tiff, a-an' now I'm here," was all his head filter allowed him to mention before he returned to texting Kenny, issuing a warning that Karen and Ike now knew that there had been what some might refer to as "drama". Ike rolled his eyes and shook his head as Karen made to interrogate him further, but just when she was about to open her mouth, the nurse came out to call them in.

When Butters stood to accompany them, the nurse gave him a funny look, but Ike, ever the insolent twit that he was, draped an arm over his shoulder and gave the nurse a salute.

"We're both the father," he winked and strode in behind Karen without offering Butters the opportunity to apologize for their behavior. Karen made them turn away when the nurse weighed her, which only made Ike roll his eyes and Butters shift uncomfortably. He'd been surrounded by, for lack of a better phrase, fag hags for the last four years in Los Angeles—Body Consciousness Capital, USA. He knew how girls could get about their weight; he just never thought that Karen McCormick, who'd spent her life being thin as a rail, would be one of those girls.

Then again, Butters supposed everybody had their insecurities—Kenny wasn't very fond of his freckly cheeks and shoulders, or the way his face turned bright red when he drank; Butters had an insistent layer of fat on his body that wouldn't go away, even back when he was dancing exhaustively every day; Ike had buck teeth and massive feet. Butters didn't have time to share these sentiments with her before they were in a very sterile-looking exam room.

"Jesus," Butters breathed, running his sweating palms over the denim on his knees as his eyes scanned over a laminated pregnancy chart on the wall. "Not gonna lie, I never thought I'd be in one of these."

"Christ, we get it," Ike groaned as he picked up a plastic model of a uterus. "You eat cock. You can't have ass babies. Go march on Washington in a glittery ball gown or some shit."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the father of my child," Karen rolled her eyes. Ike stuck out his tongue and opened the model, whistling as he did so.

"This is what you girls got all tucked up inside you?" he asked. "How the fuck's a baby supposed to fit in this?"

"Oh, my God, Ike," Karen sighed and rubbed at her temples.

"Honey, I'm a guy," Ike said very pointedly, apparently at this point forgetting Butters was in the room. "I know where your clit is; be thankful I'm _that_ competent."

"Ike!"

Butters buried his face in his hands and prayed for the doctor to come in, or for a rogue, leftover piece of Skylab to come crashing in through the ceiling. Luckily, the doctor seemed to be skilled at telepathy and entered the room not too long after, smiling genially at everyone and going right to work prepping Karen for an ultrasound.

"I don't think I've ever seen you before," she said, turning to Butters with that reassuring smile on her face.

"Oh, he's an uncle," Karen supplied before Butters or Ike could answer.

"Ah!" the doctor replied brightly and gave him a courteous nod. "The family descends. These two are the most secretive people I've ever met—no need for me to tell you, I'm sure."

"Yeah, they're pretty private all right," Butters nodded, leaning on the counter beside Ike.

"He's our secret-keeper," Karen said as she reclined back. Almost instantly, Ike went to stand by her, slipping their fingers together and kissing her on the cheek as the doctor fiddled with the ultrasound machine. Butters watched this, the intimacy of the whole thing, and made a grab for his phone. Sure enough there was one new message blinking on his screen.

_From: Kenny_

_go awy mad at u_

Butters snorted and texted back a simple heart icon, knowing full well that Kenny's reply would be something along the lines of '_gross_', but he didn't care. He knew that, deep down under whatever upset Kenny was feeling, he lacked the capacity to be actually annoyed by that kind of thing. Kenny was nothing but a big softy, in spite of his best efforts to orient public opinion otherwise.

"All right," the doctor brought Butters out of his thoughts. "Everything looks good here, mom. Uncle, you ready for the big reveal?"

"Hey, wait—" Karen said quickly, covering her ears and nudging Ike to cover his. Ike rolled his eyes before the doctor held up a hand, laughing as she moved to grab her clipboard. She flipped to an Rx pad and, holding it up so only Butters could see, scrawled out a clear and distinct 'NIECE'. Butters felt a distinct warm tingle spread through his chest—not just a girl, but a _niece_.

"Wow," was all he managed to say, his voice rasping a little with the sheer emotionality of it all as he took the piece of paper and folded it up.

"Girl," Ike said immediately. "It's a girl."

"Ike, goddamn it," Karen groaned. "You're going to send me into premature labor if you don't stop being a twat."

"That was a 'you're having a girl' smile!" Ike jumped to his own defense.

Butters just shrugged and tucked the piece of paper away in his pocket.

"Guess you'll have to wait a few months and find out if you were right," he said with a smile just before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out to find that Kenny had texted him back: a grouchy little emoticon, and ellipsis, and, wouldn't you know it, a heart. Butters grinned and looked up, the doctor, Ike, and Karen staring at him expectantly, and tucked his phone back into his pants. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to buy a gender neutral onesie for your son and/or daughter."

"Oh god, it's got both!" Ike cried at about the same time the doctor rolled her eyes, undoubtedly wondering who on earth let this kid reproduce. Butters just shook his head and went to kiss Karen on the forehead.

"I'll call you tonight?" he asked and Karen narrowed her eyes.

"You're going to tell him, aren't you?" she asked. Butters shrugged and attempted to feign innocence, but he got the feeling it probably wasn't working. So, he just gave her what was probably an insane-looking smile before he dashed out of the room, chest still fit to burst and body so energized that he felt like… like he could run all the way back to Kenny's and not even be tired.

But, being that he had Kenny's car, he figured he'd do the considerate thing and at least drive it back.

He ran up to the house and busted through the front door, expecting Kenny to be in the basement where he'd left him a few hours before. Instead there he was, on the couch, wrapped in Butters' quilt, watching what appeared to be Finding Nemo. He looked freshly showered, which wasn't unwelcome as much as it was out of the ordinary. Kenny's hygiene had improved vastly since he'd moved into a place with pretty consistent hot running water, but he tended to shower in the early morning hours before Butters even woke up.

"Hey," Butters said as he came to sit beside Kenny on the couch. He smelled like cheap soap and clean skin, a volatile combination that made Butters' insides twist into a pleasant knot. He looked from Kenny to the TV and back again before said, "I thought this movie was lame."

"It is," Kenny insisted and shrugged the quilt off of his shoulders. "But I had to get that DVD out of there, and this was on the TV when I switched it back."

"What'd you do with the… y'know?" Butters asked and grabbed one of Kenny's hand in his. He tried not to smile when Kenny's fingers curled around his almost instantly.

"Put 'em back where they were," he replied and tucked his head into the crook of Butters' neck. He must've been feeling like shit still—that was the only reason he was ever this pathetically affectionate.

"And now you're watching Nemo," Butters smiled and knocked his knee against Kenny's.

"Don't be a twat," Kenny mumbled and ran his thumb over Butters' knuckles. "That's my job."

Butters was about to roll his eyes, to tell Kenny to stop being so dramatic, when Kenny cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. He heard a little noise of surprise escape from the back of his throat and brought his free hand to rest on the nape of Kenny's neck. Thank Mary mother of God, he had brushed his teeth—not that Butters wouldn't have kissed him anyway, but good God, hangover breath was just plain disgusting.

"I'm sorry," Butters said as soon as they pulled back. "I-I shoulda told you about interviewing for that job."

"God, I don't even give a fuck about it," Kenny shook his head and looked Butters in the eye. He looked a little like he was itching to say something more, so Butters gave him a little peck of encouragement on the corner of his mouth. This only made Kenny take a shaky breath and move to rest their foreheads together.

"Just…" he began, breath ghosting over Butters' lips, before he pulled back and ran his fingers through his hair. "You scare the shit out of me, okay?—Yeah you, Stotch. Don't look around like there's anyone else I'm talking to," Kenny gave a nervous laugh. Butters felt his heart skip a few beats in the way it usually did when Kenny totally caught him doing something like that, and actually may have stopped breathing when he said, "You're fucking frightening, Butters."

"Why?" he asked, feeling his face twisting up with confusion. He'd been called a lot of things in his life, but 'frightening' certainly had never been one of them.

"Because I actually fucking care about you," Kenny said. "And, like… I don't know. I wouldn't stick around with me if I was you."

It was like someone reached into his chest and grabbed his heart at that. Quite frankly, this whole day had been nothing but him pretending that he didn't want to throw up with everything Kenny had told him. Seeing him on the screen was one thing, but hearing Kenny talk about it, how obviously _shattered_ he was because of it… he wasn't the same guy he'd been when he'd left, the cocksure little pervert with a heart of gold Butters had fallen in love with. He'd been through some shit—like he didn't have enough demons to deal with already.

"Kenny," he said softly. "Ke-Kenny, I know you got your stuff, but… You gotta know I still love you. "

"Even though you know how fucked up I am?" Kenny asked, wrinkling his nose.

"You know how fucked up I am," Butters shrugged and reclined back against the arm rest. "I ain't sent you runnin' yet."

"Dude," Kenny cocked a brow and gave him a very frank sort of look. "Porn."

"_Dude_, you're, like, _not_ the only one with problems," Butters mimicked back as best he could, once again slipping back into a washed out California accent—the one he'd come back using, the one that had made his dad tell him to stop messing around and talk like a real person.

"What the fuck?" Kenny raised an eyebrow, giving a slight little laugh in spite of the fact that he didn't look the least bit amused. "Why're you talking like that?"

"'cause," Butters continued, switching back into his normal voice. "It's how I had to talk to get everyone in California—_California _—to stop callin' me stuff like 'backwoods faggot'. Thought I was gonna go someplace where I'd be around people who accepted me; kinda blew up in my face."

"Shit," Kenny frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Butters shook his head. "It's… okay, it's real stupid and I can't believe I'm gonna say it, but you're one of the only people who's ever made me feel like no matter what I did, I was accepted. Like, no matter how I sounded or what I said, even if it was stupid or dorky or whatever you wanna call it, you liked it 'cause it was me. 'Cause no matter what, I-I'm always me, a-an' I kinda always hoped you felt the same way with me. I don't care if you got a kid, o-or if you did porn, or even if you robbed a fuckin' _bank_ or somethin', 'case you're you. And I love you."

Kenny sat there staring at Butters, blinking every once in a while, before Butters huffed a little sigh and surged forward, pressing their lips together so hard that he bumped their noses together in a manner entirely unbefitting of such a deep proclamation of love. Kenny laughed, though, and cupped Butters' face in his hands before guiding him into something a little more manageable.

They pulled back, looking at each other and exchanging awkward little laughs before Butters kicked off his shoes and settled in against Kenny. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Finding Nemo flit colorfully across the screen, until Butters eventually nodded off, tucked soundly under Kenny's arm.

When he woke a little while later, the movie was coming to a close. He sat up and stretched, about to ask how long he'd been out, when he looked over at Kenny and saw that he was… was he crying?

Okay, not _crying_-crying, but it was definitely that very distinct end-of-a-touching-movie welling up that he was furiously trying to wipe away on the sleeve of his shirt. Butters was inclined to pretend he hadn't noticed, since it was blatantly apparent that that was what Kenny had wanted him to do, but he couldn't. He broke out into a smile and gave Kenny a little prod in the side.

"So lame, isn't it?" he asked.

"Fuck man, shut up," Kenny mumbled thickly and crossed his arms over his chest. "I miss my kid."

"I know," Butters nodded. Strange as it was, he kind of did know what Kenny was talking about. When you get used to having another human being around, Butters supposed it was impossible not to miss them when they weren't there. This apparently included tiny humans who couldn't talk too much outside of denying any requests made of him to eat peas.

"Look," Butters said as Kenny stood and went into the kitchen. "I miss him too, but… this is good, okay? Your separation anxiety is really gettin' the best of you, a-an' I hate to see you—what?"

Kenny was shaking his head and looking out the kitchen window, kind of like Butters expected a witch or some otherworldly being would do when they sensed dangerous spirits lurking close by. It's something that definitely would have spooked Butters if he hadn't seen Kenny do it a million times before. He'd done it for as long as Butters could remember.

"I don't like that he's gone," Kenny said softly. "Like, something's not right."

"Okay," Butters frowned and stood up to follow Kenny into the kitchen. "Well, Bebe'll call and let us know if there's somethin' wrong. Let's just try to focus on somethin' else. We could go to a movie?"

Kenny wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"Laser tag?"

"I don't wanna drive up to Denver to go laser tagging," Kenny rolled his eyes, like doing such would be the biggest inconvenience he would face in the foreseeable future. Butters was about to open his mouth and suggest a heated round of strip charades, which he was most certain Kenny wouldn't play with him anyway, when Kenny's cell phone started ringing inside his pocket.

"I fucking knew it," he muttered as he fished it out and answered. "Bebe?"

Butters pulled the device away from his ear and hit the speaker phone button, jumping back a little when Bebe's voice, and a distantly tinny rendition of Patrick's best ear-shattering sobs, rang out into the kitchen, strained and desperate.

"—stop crying. All the way up here that's all he did. I don't fucking get it. Does he hate me or something?"

"He doesn't hate you," Kenny rolled his eyes. "Did you try his pacifier?"

"Oh, what am I, a fucking twelve-year-old? This isn't my first sitting job, dickhole. I tried feeding him, burping him, changing him, rocking him—nothing. fucking. works. "

Kenny gave Butters a look and handed him the phone, too fed up already, apparently. Butters just rolled his eyes and took the phone without hesitation.

"Hey, Bebe," he said.

"Oh, look, a sane person."

"Hey!" Kenny snapped, but Butters put a hand on his face and pushed him away.

"Bebe, just give him his blue elephant," he said. "It'll calm him right down."

There was a moment of pause before a very soft, "I didn't pack the blue elephant," like if Patrick heard he'd start wailing even more loudly than he already was.

"Shit, really?" Butters asked, not overreacting because it wasn't something quite worthy of the overreaction Kenny was liable to have if he wasn't careful.

"He's almost one!" Bebe defended herself. "I thought he was done with it. He was fine when we left."

"Goddamn it, Bebe," Kenny sighed and went to run upstairs.

"Don't listen to 'im," Butters shook his head. "You're doin' better than I was last night."

"Butters, it's fucking awful," Bebe whined. "Everyone keeps trying everything, but he won't stop, and my—" she took in a long breath, which meant she was about a second and a half away from the water works "—my mom says it's because he's not in a stable home with a mom and dad, and—"

"Found it!" Kenny called as he hopped the last few bottom stairs and went to pull on his boots by the door. "Tell here we'll be up there in a little bit."

"Bebe, wait just a sec," Butters said and held the phone against his chest. God, he felt like his mother. "Ken, are you crazy? Driving up to Loveland isn't exactly a jaunty afternoon trip."

"Dude," Kenny cocked a brow as he stood up. "Our kid needs us. We're his parents, we have to go help him."

"Aw, come on," Butters rolled his eyes. "Don't turn this into Mysterion Hour. He can't be attached to that thing fore—hey!" Butters ducked out of the way of his own shoes flying at him, courtesy of Kenny McCormick, Master of All Things Tactful. Kenny then darted over to him and grabbed the phone.

"Text the address, dude," he said. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

"You are an actual insane person," came Bebe's reply. "But thank you."

**-oooooooo-**

Bebe's grandparents (or, grandfather, Butters thought morbidly as he got out of the car) lived in a ridiculously nice house up in Loveland. Slightly closer to South Park than Butters had actually anticipated starting out, it still took a little too long with getting through Denver and everything and roadhead and handjobs could only occupy your time for so long.

"These posh fucks," Butters heard Kenny mutter as they rolled to a stop right in front of the house. He'd been alternating between chewing off his fingernails (which Butters hadn't seen him do since about the sixth grade) and clicking his tongue ring against his teeth. He'd taken out the rest of his piercings, leaving his face a little emptier than Butters was used to seeing it, but he'd figured he probably shouldn't evoke the ire of Bebe's parents any more than he already did by turning up looking like the pierced little hedonist that he was.

"Now, now, dear," Butters managed in his best Mrs. Cleaver. "They're people, just like us."

"Whatever, dude," Kenny sighed and unbuckled himself. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"You're gonna take him, aren't you?" Butters asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

"Taking implies that he doesn't belong to me," Kenny said as he got out of the car, which only made Butters roll his eyes as he followed.

"He's a kid, not a book, okay," he said, running to catch up. "He doesn't _belong _to anyone."

"Wow, how fucking profound," Kenny clipped back as they got to the door and knocked. "Excuse me while I go write that down. Meanwhile, our kid is in there with—"

"With who," Butters cut him off. "People who're grieving? We're droppin' off the elephant, gettin' him to sleep, a-an' that's that, you hear me?"

Kenny stuck out his tongue, Batman tongue ring sitting soundly in the center of his tongue. Butters wondered if that particular ring made him feel braver, like when a kid wore Batman underwear, or a Superman shirt underneath the rest of his clothes. Butters grabbed him by the jaw and pecked him on the lips, lingering just a little when he felt Kenny's fingers twitch and brush against his.

Then, of course, the door opened and Butters pulled away from Kenny, laughing a little when Kenny made to follow him.

"Gross," Bebe sighed and leaned against the door. Butters and Kenny looked over, Kenny presumably to flip her off and Butters to say a simple 'hello', but they were both distracted by Patrick, all red-faced and runny-nosed and immediately moved to tend to him.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Kenny chided as he took Patrick into his arms, "He's been like this all day?"

"All day," Bebe groaned and buried her face in her hands. Butters pulled a few tissues out of the pack in his jacket pocket and started wiping at Patrick's face.

"Poor baby," he said softly and kissed Patrick on his bright red cheek. He seemed to have calmed considerably by being in his dad's arms, being fawned over and cared for by two familiar people. Butters noticed Bebe watching him out of the corner of his eye and gave her a little smile. "What?"

"No, you guys just… you look like a family," Bebe said, looking a little distant as she reached out to brush at Patrick's hair. Patrick leaned into the touch and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He looked about ready to nod off right then and there. "Jesus, how do you do that?" Bebe asked, sounding nothing short of envious.

"Aw, he's just spoiled," Butters gave a little laugh and took the elephant out of Kenny's hand. Patrick was curled against Kenny's chest now, too far gone and close to sleep to think about his stuffed animal right now, so Butters tucked the toy against his chest and followed Bebe into the house.

Butters could see why Patrick had been throwing such a fit—the inside of the house looked as though someone had tried to make it warm and homey, but had only ended up making it feel sterile and unfriendly. Everything was kept impeccably dusted, not a knick-knack out of place. It looked un-lived-in and cold, not entirely unlike how he imagined his parents' house would look in the next few years.

"Christ," he heard Kenny mutter. "What the fuck are those?"

Butters looked over to where he was pointing—a large cabinet filled to the brim with ceramic clowns. Kenny had a thing about clowns. Butters had asked him about it once back in high school, but he'd never really explained it fully. Maybe there wasn't a reason; maybe he just thought clowns were creepy. Nevertheless, Butters brought a hand up to rub at the back of Kenny's neck, figuring it would at least placate him if nothing else.

Both of them tensed, however, when they heard Bebe's mom coming in from the other room.

"I told you, honey," she called, "I told you he'd wear himself out eventually. Honestly, that father of his absolutely—oh." She came to a halt in the archway, seeing Kenny with an armful of her grandchild before she probably even noticed that Butters was there.

"Hi, there," Kenny gave her a little wave.

"I didn't realize you'd be coming," Mrs. Stevens folded her arms and gave Bebe a look that Bebe, to her credit, shrugged off entirely.

"I forgot to pack one of Patrick's stuffed animals," she said lightly. "The boys were nice enough to bring it up."

Mrs. Stevens pursed her lips and scratched at the back of her neck, refusing to make eye contact with Kenny or even acknowledge Butters' existence.

"Well, I feel like that was a little inappropriate," she said, turning back to look at Bebe. "This is not the time to be playing parent politics, sweetheart. Your grandmother just _died_, for God's sake."

"No one's playing anything, mom," Bebe rolled her eyes. "Their child was upset, so they brought him his toy. That's not a crime."

"Sweetheart, please ask your friends to leave," Mrs. Stevens said very firmly, like Bebe was twelve and not a twenty-two-year-old woman capable of making her own decisions. "Kenny, thank you for the gesture but my grandson is actually in quite good hands here. I think it would be best if you left. If you don't mind, we have a funeral to plan."

Butters felt a burning sensation deep in his gut. He was fine with being treated like shit by this woman—really, he was (because he had nothing to do with her and he wanted to keep it that way)—but Kenny was her grandson's father, not to mention primary guardian, and even if she didn't like him the very _least_ she could do was tolerate him while he was around. Butters could see Kenny tensing further beside him, could see his tongue running over his teeth, hear his tongue ring clicking against his teeth, so he pursed his lips and leaned in close to Kenny's ear.

"Guess no one's been eating her pussy," he said softly. Kenny busted out into a full-bodied laugh, jarring Patrick from his sleep and making Mrs. Stevens go bright red in the face. Butters supposed her reaction had less to do with him saying the word 'pussy' (a word Kenny absolutely _loved_ hearing Butters say, incidentally) and more with the fact that she wasn't being taken seriously.

"I'm not going to ask you two to leave again," Mrs. Stevens insisted, walking over to the door and holding it open for them. "I'm very happy you both care deeply enough for him that you'd make the trip up, but I don't appreciate your being here at all and infiltrating on our private family time."

"Mom!" Bebe snapped, a scowl on her face that looked all too similar to the face Patrick always pulled when Butters or Kenny tried to feed him something new. "Patrick's my son and Kenny's his dad—he's part of our family now whether you like it or not."

"No, honey, I don't think that's true," Mrs. Stevens shook her head, graying blonde hair falling out of the loose bun on top of her head. "I don't think I should have to bring some drug-using pornography-peddling delinquent into my family just because someone was too headstrong to wait and have a real family."

"Whoa, now," Butters interjected sharply, ready to launch a full scale attack.

Only, Bebe got there first.

"I don't want a real family," she began, trying like hell to remain calm, Butters imagined, since Patrick was awake and watching every bit of the exchange while curled into Kenny's chest. "I don't want to be a '_mommy_', okay? That's not what I want for myself, and you breathing down my neck and trying to get me to come back here to be with him isn't going to change that. They're his parents, not me."

Butters felt his face color when Mrs. Stevens looked at him and may have indulged his instincts to hide behind Kenny just a little. She pursed her lips, looking from Kenny to Butters and back again. She then looked back to Bebe and gave a disappointed sigh.

"Sweetheart, your baby needs a real home with real parents," she said and looked at Butters. "And frankly, Leopold, I don't think your mother or father would be happy to know you're playing house with a pervert."

"Ma'am, all due respect, but I don't really give a flyin' fuck what my parents think," Butters said very frankly, still from behind Kenny. "A-an' I'm pretty sure they don't concern themselves with it too much, so I don't know why you should."

"They're happy, mom," Bebe scowled. "They're a family. I'm happy having a little part of it, but what they have is _theirs_ and it's not what I want."

"Bebe," Mrs. Stevens said, like she was trying to explain something for the thousandth time to a rowdy toddler. "You are his _legal_ parent. You have a responsibility to provide him with the best environment possible. I've told you that your father and I are willing to give him a stable home until you're done with school—"

"Over my dead fucking body!" Kenny snapped, clutching Patrick close to his chest.

"Kenny, take it easy," Butters muttered, catching Patrick's eye over Kenny's shoulder and giving him a smile, hopefully to deter his senses of anything being awry.

"No, fuck this," Kenny said, handing Patrick to Butters before folding his arms and turning back to Bebe's mom. "He's already got a stable home. He's got food, a bed, and parents who love him, including a mother who was smart enough to know that she didn't want to be tied down by a kid. No one's cooking up meth in the back yard, there aren't orgies happening every night in the living room, no one's snorting heroin off of his changing table. We're normal fucking people, I promise you."

"Be that as it may," Mrs. Stevens began, "and I didn't want to get into any of this ugliness until this funeral business was over, but a court would not hesitate to give me and my husband guardianship over the two of you until Bebe is done with—"

"Mom!" Bebe shouted. "Why is this so hard for you to get? I don't want him and neither should you."

"I-I think we're gonna go outside," Butters said as he attempted to cover Patrick's ears. He didn't need to hear something like that, about his mom not wanting him. No kid did, no matter how well-meaning or honest the sentiment was. It was an all-around shitty thing to say, and an even shittier thing to hear.

"You're not taking him with you," Mrs. Stevens said, sticking out an arm to stop him, but Butters slipped past her all the same.

"If the three of you wanna stay here a-an' argue 'til you're all blue in the face, that's your business," he said. "But if you wanna preach about what's best for him, I'll tell you, stayin' in here listenin' to you three isn't gonna do anyone any good, least of all him. You let us know when you're done."

Butters turned and walked all the way back out to the car, boots crunching through the snow on the lawn and Patrick whimpering against him.

"I know, honey," he said softly as he came to lean against the car, holding Patrick up so he was looking him in the eye. "Everyone's got their sights set on you like you're the prettiest girl at the school dance."

There was no way in hell Patrick understood that, but, being the good kid that he was, he seemed to recognize that Butters was trying to be funny and at least gave him a little smile. Butters shook his head and stuck his tongue out, which actually made Patrick laugh. Maybe because he'd seen Kenny and Butters do that to each other about a thousand times before and he felt like he was finally being let in on the joke.

"Oh, you think I'm funny, huh?" Butters asked, and Patrick laughed even harder. Everyone he knew gave him the strangest looks when he talked to Patrick, and he supposed they may have been a little warranted. He'd always gotten along well with kids, though… maybe because they knew that, deep down, he'd never really stopped being one himself? He liked to think it was possible.

"Butters?"

Butters looked past Patrick to see Bebe and Kenny standing on the sidewalk, just a few paces away. Bebe had her jacket on and purse dangling off of her shoulder, while Kenny had the diaper bag hoisted across his back. They were both looking at him in a resigned, creepy sort of way… kind of like they were going to take him to a cornfield in Iowa and kill him or something.

"He-hey, guys," he frowned slightly as he pulled Patrick back against his chest. No one would hurt him while he was holding a kid, right?

"So, uh," Kenny scuffed his shoes on the icy pavement, looking down in the way that he only did around Butters. "Bebe and I have actually talked about it a little before now—"

"I have a way I think I can get my mom out of everyone's hair," Bebe finished and braced her hands on her hips, looking at Butters very, _very_ seriously now. "But I need to know something first."

"Uh, sure?" Butters' eyebrows knitted upward in confusion, but he tried not to let on how scary all of this was. If he was about to be murdered in _Loveland_ of all places, he was going to have to seriously rethink his life. He'd had plenty of chances to be murdered in LA—that at least would have been something worth talking about.

"Do you love Patrick?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," Butters shrugged. "Why're you both lookin' at me funny?"

"Would you do anything for him?" Bebe continued, like she hadn't heard Butters' question.

"Yeah, but I don't understand wha—"

"For fuck's sake, do you wanna adopt him?" Kenny snapped, about as tired of Bebe's questions as Butters was.

Butters felt his eyes go big and bug out of his skull as he looked from Kenny to Bebe and back again. Adopt him? Like, _adopt_ _him_ adopt him? He looked at Kenny, who was looking back at him with that same look he had that morning, that pleading look that practically _begged _him to answer in the affirmative, like hearing the word 'no' would literally make him spontaneously combust.

"Gee guys, that's…" Butters let out a breath. "That's a real big responsibility."

"Butters," there was desperation behind Kenny's voice now. "I know it's a fuck of a lot to ask, but… y'know, when I see him and you and the way you guys are together? You guys just fit. And if I have to share him with anyone, I want it to be you."

"And my baby daddy gets what he wants," Bebe smirked, arms folded across her chest. "Just like my baby, right sweetheart?"

Patrick, who'd been looking back at Kenny and Bebe during this whole exchange, gave a little laugh and hid his face in Butters' neck. Butters still wasn't entirely sure that he could speak. He wanted to, and he definitely had a thing or two to say, but everything was sort of lodged in his throat. Even as Kenny approached him (carefully, like he was a skittish deer about to run off into the street with a baby in arm), he couldn't find it in himself to speak.

It wasn't until Kenny brushed a hand across his cheek and, giving him a little smile, pushed their lips together, that Butters realized how much he truly did love Kenny and everything about him, everything he'd become. When they pulled back, Patrick was squirming to get between them again, eager to be a part of whatever it was that was happening; he looked at Kenny, then at Butters, and gave a toothy little grin. His eyes scrunched up in the corners when he made that grin, just like Kenny's did. Butters felt his heart go soft, felt every last bit of doubt melt out of him as he looked into that sweet, happy little face.

He felt Kenny bring him into another kiss before he even realized he'd said yes.


	14. Chapter 12

Hey guys! So we're here at the last chapter. It's pretty short, but I feel like it's a good ending note. I want to thank everyone for sticking around this long and offering their support. It really does mean the world to me. You are all officially awesome (I decree it), even my lurkers ;).

* * *

><p>Despite the fact that Kyle had absolutely <em>no<em> desire to go into law, he'd interned at a few law firms in his life, just for shits and giggles (and to get everyone off of his back—he tried it, didn't like it, time to move on). He didn't want to be a lawyer, no, but that didn't mean jack shit to his dickbag friends, apparently, who liked to call him up at fucking midnight for legal advice and shit.

He was going to start charging if this was how it was gonna go. He'd be the Miss fucking Cleo of legal advice.

"Someone better be fucking dead," he groaned as he patted around for his phone. Stan grunted beside him, hugging his pillow to his chest and begging Kyle to "just fucking answer the phone already". Kyle bit back some sarcastic remark or another—he couldn't tell, he was tired—but finally found it and answered before Stan could reply, threatening death in place of a greeting to whoever was on the other end.

"Hey, Kyle," came Bebe's voice.

"Oh," Kyle sat up and ran a hand over his face. "Hey. What's up?"

"I have a legal question to ask," she said. "What do you know about abdicating parental rights?"

"Enough," Kyle replied, looking over at where Stan was squirming, trying to settle back into sleep.

"And adoption?" Bebe asked.

"Look," Kyle said, running his fingers over the strip of exposed skin between Stan's pajama bottoms and shirt. "Let's cut the bullshit. I can do whatever the fuck you need, okay? Tell me what you want and I'll fucking take care of it. Just let me go back to sleep."

She wanted to give her parental rights to Butters. Fantastic. He told her he'd call them tomorrow with more details and hung up, flopping back onto the bed and tangling his fingers in Stan's hair.

"What's up?" Stan muttered into his pillow, leaning into Kyle's touch.

"I never want kids," Kyle yawned. It was a half-hearted threat, because he was twenty-two and actually knew dick-all about what he wanted, but it'd be enough to get Stan's attention.

"I'll put my IUD back in tomorrow," Stan shot back. Kyle laughed and pulled Stan over to him, nosing at the fine hairs on his temple and kissing him on the cheek. Stan hummed happily and turned his head so that he could kiss the smile right off of Kyle's face. They'd fucked a few hours ago, but after a nap Kyle was ready to convince Stan that he was ready to go again. Stan pulled away before he could say anything, though, and rested his head back on Kyle's shoulder.

"No kids ever?" he asked.

"Can your Catholic sensibilities handle that?" Kyle snorted as he ran his fingers up and down Stan's side.

"I'll manage," Stan muttered in false sincerity, a small smile still on his face as he drifted back off. Kyle figured Stan would make a good dad, and Kyle reserved the right to change his mind if it came down to it, but between his best friend and his little brother, he wasn't about to go and fuck himself over with a kid right now.

Quite frankly, Kyle thought everyone was a little crazy, having babies left and right like they were doing nothing more than adopting cats or buying shoes or something.

But Kyle was also of the mind that people were free to do what they wanted with their lives, stupid as he may have thought they were, as long as they were safe and happy and weren't doing anything to harm others. He loved Kenny and Ike, so he'd do whatever for them… and for their kids, he decided, because he supposes by association he should love them too.

Kyle fell asleep with his nose in Stan's hair and that funny feeling he usually got in his chest when he was about to do something nice for someone.

**ooooooooo**

It was a few days before Kyle could get the papers together that he needed, mostly because he needed to be covert and make everything look official (and also because Stan kept trying to distract him with hand jobs and other things that definitely shouldn't have been happening in his dad's office). By the time he had everything together, Bebe was still up in Loveland and sorting through her grandma's stuff, and Kenny was doing inventory at the store. That meant Kyle was explaining to Butters everything that they needed to sign.

That meant talking to Butters for an extended period of time.

It wasn't that Kyle didn't like Butters initially. He hadn't really had an opinion about him until he'd gotten involved with Kenny. At first he was happy that he'd made Kenny so happy, because Butters was the kind of guy who wouldn't hurt anyone, who'd take care of you and make you feel wanted and loved, and if Kenny needed anything it was a loving partner.

Kyle could pinpoint the exact moment he'd started hating Butters. He'd endured Butters' general moping when Kenny had disappeared, and yeah he'd kind of felt bad for him, but he'd still remained ambivalent until Kenny had come back.

Late September, four years ago. Kyle had come home from a calculus lecture to Kenny sitting outside his dorm room, looking unwanted, distant, and alone. Kyle had spared him the questions, knowing he wouldn't be there if something hadn't been wrong, and sat down beside him. They'd looked at each other for a few moments before Kenny had cracked—he'd busted up into tears right in front of Kyle for the first time in a very long time.

Kenny had loved Butters. It was weird to think, but Kyle supposed anything was possible. Kenny wasn't used to loving the people he fucked—Kyle knew that—and if he was going to be emotional about it he'd figured it'd at least be a girl to make him feel _feelings_. Girls were emotional, right? And Kenny, no matter what he said, could definitely be emotional too. Fuck, unemotional people didn't travel by bus to the cold recesses of the north to visit a friend at college, only to break down and cry on his doorstep.

Kenny had been broken. Butters had, intentionally or not, utterly _annihilated _him, and Kyle hated him for it. Kenny was a resilient fuck; he didn't let a lot of people get to him (he couldn't, being from the family he was from or being talked about in the way people talked about him). Kyle hated that someone like Butters, of all the fucking people, hurt him enough to make him break down like a rusty old car. He didn't like seeing Kenny looking like he was lost in a shambles—he didn't like that he'd had to hold him out in the open, with judgmental fucks walking by and giving them funny looks, and wait until he'd stopped crying; he didn't like hearing about what Kenny had done in Brazil, about how utterly fucking desperate he'd been (for money, for drugs, for a way to forget what he was feeling), or about how much he fucking hated himself for doing what he'd done.

Butters had done that—all of that—and Kyle would never fucking understand why anyone would pick things up with someone when they fucking-well _knew_ that they had that power over them.

Kyle supposed Stan could break him like that, but that wasn't the issue right now. Right now he had a stack of papers under his arm and a few fucking things to straighten out before he let anyone do anything.

It was Karen who came to the door instead of Butters, still in her pajamas and still pregnant, and looking about as bright and smiley as ever Kyle gave her a smile in return, because like it or not she was carrying his niece or nephew, and there were definitely worse women Ike could've chosen to reproduce with.

"Are those the papers to sign?" she asked as she stepped aside and let Kyle inside.

"Yeah," Kyle said and went to sit on the armrest of the couch. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," Karen smiled and tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. Kenny had facilitated her unofficial move into his house a few days ago, insisting that she be in a less-stressful environment until she and Ike could pool together enough for a place of their own. Kyle didn't have the heart to tell them that that probably wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

"I actually have to talk to Butters about these," he said, realizing that it'd been silent for much too long. Karen just gives him a smile and points at the stairs. He smiled back and, after giving her belly a little wave goodbye (which was awkward as all holy hell), tromped up the stairs. He found Butters in the guest room with Patrick, looking at one of those big cardboard books and being a generally decent human being.

"Hey," he knocked on the doorjamb and gave Butters an obligatory curve of his lips when he looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey there, Kyle," he greeted and stood. He looked at the envelope in Kyle's hand and stilled. "That's them, then?" he asked. Kyle nodded and put them behind his back when Butters made to reach for them. He tried not to feel too satisfied with himself when Butters gave a little pout, but he did herd him over to the bed and have him sit down.

"Before I give these to you," he said. "I wanna talk to you."

"A-about what?" Butters asked, eyebrows knit together in confusion as he started fiddling with his fingers. Kyle backed off at that—he forgot that he could actually be intimidating sometimes. He'd taken after his mother way too much for his own liking in that respect.

"Personally?" he began. "I think you're all fucking high off of your asses, doing this. We're young, we're stupid, and you guys are retarded for thinking you're the exception."

"Gee, Kyle, I—"

"I'm not fucking finished," Kyle cut him off. "I know you didn't mean to or whatever, but you really hurt him, okay? Not even hurt him—you fucking _destroyed_ him. You have a power that not many people have, all right? He fucking loves you, dude, which is also way more than most of the people in his life can say. You. Cannot. Fuck with him."

"I wouldn't!" Butters insisted, eyebrows high on his forehead now as he shook his head rather emphatically. "Kyle, you gotta believe me that I-I love him just as much as he loves me. I don't wanna hurt him again a-an' I hate that I ever did. Now, I'm happy you're so protective of him an' everything, but… he's my boyfriend."

"I know that," Kyle scowled and pulled the papers out from behind his back. He stared at the envelope for a few moments, knowing he had something else he wanted to say without knowing exactly how to say it.

"What?" Butters asked, anticipating this perhaps.

"It's stupid," Kyle finally concluded, tossing the envelope onto Butters' lap. "It's just paper. I've seen you guys, and it doesn't change anything. Paper's one thing, but… you guys are a family anyway."

It was one thing Kyle actually hated and why he didn't really want to go into law in the first place. The world only recognized Ike as his brother by law—if there hadn't been a piece of paper dictating that they were a family, people wouldn't think it was legitimate. They were a family regardless, and it actually made him really angry that people believed making something "official" made it real.

It was probably why he'd never get married. He could spend the rest of his life with the right person, but objected to official institutions. It was also probably why he'd flat out rejected Judaism, as well as religion in all its forms. "Official" didn't mean dick, in Kyle's opinion, and that was why he'd never _ever_ be able to be a lawyer.

Butters just looked at him, a little confused again, before he fiddled with the corner of the envelope and cleared his throat.

"Th-thanks, Kyle," he said. Kyle nodded and scratched at the back of his head.

"So, uh," he began. "I flagged where you guys have to sign and everything. No particular rush getting 'em back and everything, but—" he was cut off by Butters leaping off of the bed and pulling him into a hug. "Oh… okay."

"You're a good friend, Kyle," Butters said, tightening his grip on the word 'friend'. Kyle kind of wanted to kill himself now, but whatever.

"No… no problem, dude," he said. "I still say you guys are stupid as fuck."

"Well, you're a nice guy helpin' us anyway," Butters beamed and drew back. He opened up the envelope, just to make sure everything was there and in order, only to stop when he came to a certain page. Kyle looked over the top of the paper to see just what made him pause.

"Steven's his middle name?" Butters asked.

"Oh, yeah," Kyle shook his head, like it was too stupid to even explain. "Bebe didn't want Patrick to have her name, so Kenny just made Steven his middle name."

"Stephen's my middle name," Butters said softly. This took a moment to soak into Kyle's brain before it registers that this is a perfect time to roll his eyes and cross his arms over his chest.

"Well, how do you like that," he said. "Yet another sordid indication that he was never really fucking over you. Fantastic."

"Hey, wait!" Butters called as Kyle left the room. He poked his head out of the door and gave Kyle a smile. "You comin' to his birthday party?"

Kyle exhaled through his nose. Kenny and Butters were officially the stupidest people he knew, but fuck if they weren't committed and loving dads. Kyle stuffed his hands in his pockets and gave Butters a reserved smile.

"Yeah, what's he want?" he asked. Butters' smile brightened considerably as he replied with the words "College fund". Kyle snorted and gave him a little wave goodbye. He passed Karen downstairs, who was eating ice cream out of a carton (clearly marked with the words 'Karen McCormick—Keep your FUCKING hands off, Kenny') and gave her a wave too.

He walked back out to the car, convinced that he and Stan really were the only sane people left in South Park. Only, Stan was an emotionally depressive borderline alcoholic, so maybe he and Kyle weren't exactly the authorities on sanity. They were happy, though—at least together, and Kyle supposes that if it was good enough for him and Stan that it was good enough for Kenny and Butters. They were there for each other, and they always would be.

Butters will be there for Kenny in a few months when Karen has her baby, just like Stan will be there for Kyle when Ike's daughter is born and they get to be uncles together; Kenny will be there for Butters in a few years when his dad has a heart attack, just like Kyle will be there for Stan when his parents finally call it quits and have an ugly, permanent separation; Stan and Kyle will be there for each other years down the line when they decide they want kids of their own, just like Ike and Karen will be there for one another when they have another kid, just like Butters and Kenny will be there for each other when Patrick finds out whose blood he's got.

That's what a family was, though, Kyle concluded—it's not blood, or paper, or anything like that. A family is, when everything is said and done, the people who are always there for you.


End file.
